“There is a turmoil, a sense of drowning, in sensuality which is similar to the stench of corpses. On the other hand, in the anguish of death, something is lost and eludes us, a disorder begins within us, an impression of emptiness, and the state which we enter is similar to that which precedes a sensual desire [...] we cannot reduce sexual desire to that which is agreeable and beneficent. There is in it an element of disorder and excess which goes as far as to endanger the life of whoever indulges in it.”
This only refers to the chapters on Emily Bronte, Baudelaire, William Blake, Sade, Proust and Kafka. I have never read Michelet or Genet, and have no real interest in doing so, so I skipped their bits.
The opening chapter on Emily Bronte is curious as it barely refers to Wuthering Heights, the only book she wrote. This is ostensibly a work of literary criticism but all we learn of the literature is that Heathcliff and Catherine are both evil; Heathcliff is evil by nature, Catherine is not but becomes so by loving him. There is a broader point being made about taboo inducing desire, the sensuality of fear, the ecstasy of romantic suffering & the violent eroticism of half-remembered childhood nostalgia, but it is made without too many references to Wuthering Heights.
Similarly, the second chapter on Baudelaire only quotes from his poetry once. It’s not a work on Baudelaire so much as a riposte to Sartre’s work on Baudelaire, which I haven’t read so I can’t say if Bataille has done it justice. Anyway, besides sparring with Sartre, Bataille claims a cordial dislike for biographical readings of literature, but is still preoccupied with a rather romantic view of Baudelaire’s destitution, laziness & suffering.
These opening chapters are merely a springboard, with nothing much to say about their subjects; but are oracular about Bataille’s thematic hobby horses. It’s a shame that Emily Bronte & Baudelaire were used for exposition, as they’re both very interesting writers, because the book improves significantly once Bataille is done with them. The subsequent chapter on William Blake is excellent and much more involved in his poetry. Blake shares Bataille’s view that evil is a fecund & creative force, which dovetails into an energetic and insightful reading.
Of Sade, who ‘enumerated to the point of exhaustion the possibility of destroying other human beings, of destroying them and of enjoying the thought of their death and suffering’ is portrayed as Monkish, a somewhat tedious academician of perversion and lawlessness who has trammeled transgression into repetitious mundanity. For French writers of a certain generation, Bataille, Lacan, Klossowski, Blanchot etc, Sade holds a certain fascination--which I don’t really share. But this reading of Sade as a browbeaten bookkeeper, a stenographer of disinhibition, aggression and bodily fluids is actually fairly compelling. Notably, Bataille’s book never falls into Sade’s bureaucracy of shambolic disobedience, Bataille nominally observes the prohibitions and taboos which sweeten the flavor of transgressive riot & dissent.
Some of the more complex points resolve themselves into symbiotic binaries in his writing on Proust; that the quiet, remorseful timbre of his novel(s) were necessarily implanted in his passionate youthful socialism, that goodness & virtue would be crashingly dull without the possibility of evil, that pink would be an ugly color if not for the contrast of blackness (and vice versa). This unity of opposites is a little...obvious. But most of this book is playing with the codependency of antinomies, sometimes to great effect. The fact is, we are frightened & disturbed by pleasure, but desire always elides structuration; we enjoy violence as it repulses us and we loathe stability as it nourishes us, and this contradiction reproduces itself across history and in so many great works of art. Bataille explores the interplay of this dialectic across every conceivable terrain and it is always convincing.
I think what’s interesting about Bataille, still to this day, is the hesitancy of the culture industry, even in academia, to domesticate him. Most of his contemporaneously obscene & transgressive peers (Lacan, Joyce, the surrealists) have been comfortably assimilated into the etiquette of western canonicity, and for that matter, so have all the subjects in this book--many even by the time of its writing. I think Baudelaire would be surprised to see the industry of conformist & conventional scholarship that arose in his wake. But there’s still a certain skittishness about Bataille. I think this is for several reasons; his writing isn’t easy to categorize (too literary to be a philosopher, too philosophical to be literary), much of it is explicitly pornographic, he carries a countercultural ‘alternative’ valence which is associated with a distasteful superficiality. He is also quite easy to read, I finished Literature & Evil in a couple days--and I can’t imagine anything appalling academics more--but even in the book’s straightforwardness it always has a simple kind of profundity, which I really enjoyed.