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The Gaze of Orpheus and Other Literary Essays
Writing about The Gaze of Orpheus, Geoffrey Hartman suggested that When we come to write the history of criticism for the 1940 to 1980 period, it will be found that Blanchot, together with Sartre, made French 'discourse' possible, both in its relentlessness and its acuity..This selection.is exemplary for its clearly translated and well-chosen excerpts from Blanchot's many influential books. Reading him now, and in this form, I feel once more the excitement of discovering Blanchot in the 1950s.
216 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1981
About the author
Maurice Blanchot
150 books642 followersMaurice Blanchot was a French philosopher, literary theorist and writer of fiction. Blanchot was a distinctly modern writer who broke down generic boundaries, particularly between literature and philosophy. He began his career as a journalist on the political far right, but the experience of fascism altered his thinking to the point that he supported the student protests of May 1968. Like so many members of his generation, Blanchot was influenced by Alexandre Kojeve's humanistic interpretation of Hegel and the rise of modern existentialism. His “Literature and the Right to Death” shows the influence that Heidegger had on a whole generation of French intellectuals.
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
August 13, 2016
At times, when I read this book, I stopped reading and said out loud: oh... my fucking God. This is perhaps the best I've ever read about literature. It was my first encounter with Blanchot. Never have I read anything which so intimates at the unspeakable in literature. So I guess there's no more to say in this review.
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April 7, 2023Video review forthcoming on Leaf by Leaf, along with other Blanchot treats.
July 4, 2022
A selection of essays ranging from early to late in Blanchot's writing career, showing the development of his thought as a literary critic / theorist. Philosophical, speculative, at times abstract, the various articles suggest different and unusual ways of looking at books, at the literary, and at the activities both of writing and reading. The first essay, for instance, analyzes the act of writing in terms of the Kierkegaardian concept of dread. Other essays comment on the myth of Orpheus, the song of the sirens, and on the concept of the book as a form of absence. Readers of thinkers like Derrida and Barthes will probably find much of interest in Blanchot's writing.
I would read this one again, not only because I am sure I have missed some of the finer points of the arguments Blanchot makes, but also because I enjoyed his style of writing.
Acquired Jan 8, 2021
Powell's City of Books, Portland, OR
I would read this one again, not only because I am sure I have missed some of the finer points of the arguments Blanchot makes, but also because I enjoyed his style of writing.
Acquired Jan 8, 2021
Powell's City of Books, Portland, OR
May 13, 2008
To turn back is to lose sight of all that you held preciously in your mind.
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March 12, 2013Congratulations Maurice, you kicked my ass.
March 29, 2023
Insightful meditations on literature, the process of writing, the ambiguity of language and its inadequacy to fully convey what we feel:
Some people suffer because they cannot express completely what they feel. (p. 3)
All that [ambiguity] allows to survive, of this misreading which keeps the mind in suspense through the hope of an unknowable truth, is the labyrinth of multiple meanings in which the mind continues its search without any hope of a possible truth. (p. 14)
Man cannot describe his torment, his torment escapes him; he believes that he will not be able to express what it is all about; he says to himself: I will never convey this suffering faithfully. (p. 15)
A person who wishes to write is stopped by a contradiction: in order to write, he must have the talent to write. But gifts, in themselves, are nothing. As long as he has not yet sat down at his table and written a work, the writer is not a writer and does not know if he has the capacity to become one. He has no talent until he has written, but he needs talent in order to write. (p. 23)
"An individual," says Hegel, "cannot know what he [really] is until he has made himself a reality through action." (p. 24)
The author sees other people taking an interest in his work, but the interest they take in it is different from the interest that made it a pure expression of himself, and that different interest changes the work, transforms it into something different, something in which he does not recognize the original perfection. For him, the work has disappeared, it has become a work belonging to other people, a work which includes them and does not include him, a book which derives its value from other books, which is original if it does not resemble them, which is understood because it is a reflection of them. (p. 26)
Why make it public if the splendor of the pure self must be preserved in the work, why take it outside, why realize it in words which belong to everyone? Why not withdraw into an enclosed and secret intimacy without producing anything but an empty object and a dying echo? (p. 27)
Speech is not sufficient for the truth it containts. (p. 45)
There comes a moment when art realizes that everyday speech is dishonest and abandons it. (p. 51)
Misunderstanding is useful to comprehension, it expresses the truth of the understanding that one is never understood once and for all. (p. 88)
The person who enjoys simply listening to music becomes a musician as he listens, and the same kind of thing happens when someone looks at paintings. The world of music and the world of painting can be entered by anyone who has the key to them. That key is the "gift," and the gift is the enchantment and understanding of a certain taste. (p. 92)
Some people suffer because they cannot express completely what they feel. (p. 3)
All that [ambiguity] allows to survive, of this misreading which keeps the mind in suspense through the hope of an unknowable truth, is the labyrinth of multiple meanings in which the mind continues its search without any hope of a possible truth. (p. 14)
Man cannot describe his torment, his torment escapes him; he believes that he will not be able to express what it is all about; he says to himself: I will never convey this suffering faithfully. (p. 15)
A person who wishes to write is stopped by a contradiction: in order to write, he must have the talent to write. But gifts, in themselves, are nothing. As long as he has not yet sat down at his table and written a work, the writer is not a writer and does not know if he has the capacity to become one. He has no talent until he has written, but he needs talent in order to write. (p. 23)
"An individual," says Hegel, "cannot know what he [really] is until he has made himself a reality through action." (p. 24)
The author sees other people taking an interest in his work, but the interest they take in it is different from the interest that made it a pure expression of himself, and that different interest changes the work, transforms it into something different, something in which he does not recognize the original perfection. For him, the work has disappeared, it has become a work belonging to other people, a work which includes them and does not include him, a book which derives its value from other books, which is original if it does not resemble them, which is understood because it is a reflection of them. (p. 26)
Why make it public if the splendor of the pure self must be preserved in the work, why take it outside, why realize it in words which belong to everyone? Why not withdraw into an enclosed and secret intimacy without producing anything but an empty object and a dying echo? (p. 27)
Speech is not sufficient for the truth it containts. (p. 45)
There comes a moment when art realizes that everyday speech is dishonest and abandons it. (p. 51)
Misunderstanding is useful to comprehension, it expresses the truth of the understanding that one is never understood once and for all. (p. 88)
The person who enjoys simply listening to music becomes a musician as he listens, and the same kind of thing happens when someone looks at paintings. The world of music and the world of painting can be entered by anyone who has the key to them. That key is the "gift," and the gift is the enchantment and understanding of a certain taste. (p. 92)
February 13, 2025
if i had a penny for every time orpheus and eurydice were used as a metaphor for something by a french person, i'd have two pennies, which isn't a lot, but it's devastating that it's happened twice. (i'm looking at you, portrait de la jeune fille en feu )
April 23, 2020
A book full of 'itself'. My fondness of French intellectual thought and poststructuralism cannot mitigate the negative emotions I began to harbour after reading the first essay. Those who are familiar with Hegelian dialectics will pronounce this book a poor reflection of Hegelian discourse: sentences are [comprised of] adverbs qualifying adjectives qualifying noun phrases that are themselves embedded in one of the many appositional phrases which do nothing but confound the reader inasmuch as s/he has forgotten who or what the subject was by the end of the page. Blanchot's thought oscillates between two states in attempt to describe some deadness or, as he calls it, 'worklessness', but, as a result, needlessly fluffs his page. Some criticism, however, should be cast on the editors of this edition because it is full of punctuational inconsistencies, and it lacks some essential formatting to aid the reader in the tiresome journey that is reading this baboon. Luckily, the above-said does not do justice to Blanchot, so let's judge each essay like one ought to do.
'From Dread to Language' - 3 stars: one positive aspect of these collected works is their consistent focus on the craft of writing, writer's vocation, and passion to write. If one takes this as the 'starter' or 'appetiser' of the book, some ideas on the absurdity of written communication (how when one addresses his loneliness he simultaneously requires a reader to acknowledge this very same loneliness) or speculations on the source of language will be delightful despite Blanchot's nebulous comparisons and vacuous language.
'Literature and the Right to Death' - 1 star: it requires some iron will, this chapter. Halfway through (p.30) Blanchot already promulgates his apprehensive descriptions ('Writing is absent from the Book, being the non absent absence on the basis of which the Book, having absented itself from this absence, makes itself readable' - taken from p. 156, but you get the idea) and remains merciless until the end. Here, Blanchot, intentionally or not, posits a joke by recounting Paul Valery's lament on the dismissal of his works caused by the sheer lack of patience of inattentive readers. Blanchot predicted my review well.
'The Essential Solitude' and 'Two Versions of the Imaginary' - 5 stars: These essays should be the reader's first impression of Blanchot - in-depth analyses on the anxieties behind publication and the allure of images (living and nonliving), which by no means were hampered by the writer's cryptic language.
'Reading' - 3 stars: remember the ending of 'Ulysses' - 'yes, yes, yes'- proclaimed the most affirmative novel by Stephen Fry. Now we know why. 'Yes' is prevalent here and for a reason, but it's important when we say 'yes'. What happens to a book before we read it? What is a book when closed and when opened. Some spooky ontology is at work here.
The eponymous 'The Gaze of Orpheus' - 1.5 stars: So much to say, yet modest on words; as if the writer decided we can infer what has been said so far, and through some mental gymnastics apply it here; and thank god for that. I can't see this essay being a standalone piece of work, otherwise I would be beyond baffled if it were my first encounter with Blanchot.
'The Song of the Sirens' - 4.3 stars: During those 5 seconds of bitter irritation and disappointment after reading the previous essay, 'The Song of the 'Sirens' regains the reader's attention and puts him on a quest to find the artful sources of the writer's imagination. Again, a worthwhile essay obscured by the vain prose and whimsies of the rest.
'The Power and the Glory' and 'Wittgenstein's Problem' - 3.8 stars: The first is slightly 'off-topic' as it brings the 'aftermath of publication' to the table. What does a writer want, and should he be politically involved (compare some thoughts by Franzen in his interview for the 'Louisiana channel'). Second one is zealous and elaborates not only on Wittgenstein (god forbid you expect an entire essay dedicated to him), but on how poets such as Flaubert and Mallarme dealt with language's imperfections. Both (essays) are charming.
'The Narrative Voice' - 3 stars: For the avid folklorists, this is for you!
'The Absence of the book' - 1 star: Cf. quote above.
Afterword: clean, insightful, well fleshed-out, and, above all, contemporary.
Final verdict - a rewarding book which fills the reader with the same dread Blanchot describes. Once into it, your judgement is askew and critiquing becomes a predicament. I say make the 'Afterword' a 'Foreword', punctuate clearly, add some annotations and references to 'The Space of Literature'. It will make all the difference. Nevertheless, the reader would still be aroused by Blanchot's ingenuity, but at what cost!?
And now a word from our sponsor:
Аллооо, Манчев, не готвача, а философа. Как са се събрали да те гледат там в СУ, аз не знам как съм се събрал да те гледам в Ютуб. Добре че беше Гочева да каже, че Морис Бланшо е Черньо Белев, иначе щеше да си мрънкаш там. пфу!
'From Dread to Language' - 3 stars: one positive aspect of these collected works is their consistent focus on the craft of writing, writer's vocation, and passion to write. If one takes this as the 'starter' or 'appetiser' of the book, some ideas on the absurdity of written communication (how when one addresses his loneliness he simultaneously requires a reader to acknowledge this very same loneliness) or speculations on the source of language will be delightful despite Blanchot's nebulous comparisons and vacuous language.
'Literature and the Right to Death' - 1 star: it requires some iron will, this chapter. Halfway through (p.30) Blanchot already promulgates his apprehensive descriptions ('Writing is absent from the Book, being the non absent absence on the basis of which the Book, having absented itself from this absence, makes itself readable' - taken from p. 156, but you get the idea) and remains merciless until the end. Here, Blanchot, intentionally or not, posits a joke by recounting Paul Valery's lament on the dismissal of his works caused by the sheer lack of patience of inattentive readers. Blanchot predicted my review well.
'The Essential Solitude' and 'Two Versions of the Imaginary' - 5 stars: These essays should be the reader's first impression of Blanchot - in-depth analyses on the anxieties behind publication and the allure of images (living and nonliving), which by no means were hampered by the writer's cryptic language.
'Reading' - 3 stars: remember the ending of 'Ulysses' - 'yes, yes, yes'- proclaimed the most affirmative novel by Stephen Fry. Now we know why. 'Yes' is prevalent here and for a reason, but it's important when we say 'yes'. What happens to a book before we read it? What is a book when closed and when opened. Some spooky ontology is at work here.
The eponymous 'The Gaze of Orpheus' - 1.5 stars: So much to say, yet modest on words; as if the writer decided we can infer what has been said so far, and through some mental gymnastics apply it here; and thank god for that. I can't see this essay being a standalone piece of work, otherwise I would be beyond baffled if it were my first encounter with Blanchot.
'The Song of the Sirens' - 4.3 stars: During those 5 seconds of bitter irritation and disappointment after reading the previous essay, 'The Song of the 'Sirens' regains the reader's attention and puts him on a quest to find the artful sources of the writer's imagination. Again, a worthwhile essay obscured by the vain prose and whimsies of the rest.
'The Power and the Glory' and 'Wittgenstein's Problem' - 3.8 stars: The first is slightly 'off-topic' as it brings the 'aftermath of publication' to the table. What does a writer want, and should he be politically involved (compare some thoughts by Franzen in his interview for the 'Louisiana channel'). Second one is zealous and elaborates not only on Wittgenstein (god forbid you expect an entire essay dedicated to him), but on how poets such as Flaubert and Mallarme dealt with language's imperfections. Both (essays) are charming.
'The Narrative Voice' - 3 stars: For the avid folklorists, this is for you!
'The Absence of the book' - 1 star: Cf. quote above.
Afterword: clean, insightful, well fleshed-out, and, above all, contemporary.
Final verdict - a rewarding book which fills the reader with the same dread Blanchot describes. Once into it, your judgement is askew and critiquing becomes a predicament. I say make the 'Afterword' a 'Foreword', punctuate clearly, add some annotations and references to 'The Space of Literature'. It will make all the difference. Nevertheless, the reader would still be aroused by Blanchot's ingenuity, but at what cost!?
And now a word from our sponsor:
Аллооо, Манчев, не готвача, а философа. Как са се събрали да те гледат там в СУ, аз не знам как съм се събрал да те гледам в Ютуб. Добре че беше Гочева да каже, че Морис Бланшо е Черньо Белев, иначе щеше да си мрънкаш там. пфу!
September 28, 2014
There is none like Blanchot. The depth and clarity in his work takes you to a place of reading and writing very few have ever been. If you're a writer who wants to explore the intricacies and complexities of reading and writing, Blanchot is the one to do it.
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August 14, 2024The search for conceptual personae is like unknowingly assenting to the perpetual game which precedes the writing of the book, let alone the reading of it. I wake up from an idle dream in the middle of a hunt. The hounds are baying, but Blanchot depicts the drama of this savage game with a mannerist hand. I am captivated by the gaze of the painter, I am in the painting, but it is an interior canalized by that which never stops not-being-written. Blanchot's writing is painterly in this way. Despite his disavowal of the visual, I find that the aura of the work shimmers, it has the feeling of the adventitious capture of the image. Or, it is the impossible weight of the sculpture. This may be because he abandons the parataxis of lyric to languish in oxymora. His disavowal of the stage does not catapult him towards the moving image, or the dissonance of the atonal. Instead, he broods in the dark contours of chiaroscuro.
I may be attracted to this because of its baroque qualities, because I am attracted to varieties on a theme of depth and density in French literature, but I also find that I can fold into something which was already in me, something which exceeds the surface geography of the landscape I'm traversing. There a balance to be struck between lightness and heaviness, the sky and the earth.
I may be attracted to this because of its baroque qualities, because I am attracted to varieties on a theme of depth and density in French literature, but I also find that I can fold into something which was already in me, something which exceeds the surface geography of the landscape I'm traversing. There a balance to be struck between lightness and heaviness, the sky and the earth.
February 27, 2020
Just read the title essay (that was enough).
Want to Read
August 24, 2025Way over my pay grade but why not
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews