The Fire and the Tale (2014, in Italian) is another of Agamben’s shorter books of miscellaneous essays (like Profanations and Nudities), but with a more unified focus on the nexus between art (or creativity and poetics generally) and life. All the sections seem to be written between 2010–2014, and in one sense can be read as a continuation and hybridization of Agamben’s sporadic investigation into the fate of aesthetics and “Art” (as a distinct sphere), from his first book The Man Without Content (1970) to his “Form-of-Life” sections from part III of The Use of Bodies (2014). (There are even a few sections which seem to directly mirror text published in The Use of Bodies, such as the metaphor of whirlpools/eddies applied to modes of a substance [within the “Vortexes” chapter here], and his remarks on Hadot’s supposed initial misunderstanding of Foucault on care-of-the-self [within the “Opus Alchymicum” chapter here].)
But whereas The Use of Bodies relies on detailed textual analysis to make its suggestive conclusions, the essays here include an outright sense of mystery (or “fire”). Although these are disparate essays, the collection opens and closes with separate, explicit mentions of mysticism, by way of Gershom Scholem’s and René Daumal’s independent reliance on mountain metaphors and Cabalistic notions of “sparks”/fire, in such a way bookending the volume to highlight the mysterious zone between inspiration and expression (but expression in the generic sense, not confined to a recognized, sanctioned art world or literary establishment — as Agamben is careful to stress, “…I rather prefer to speak of the poetic act, and although I will continue to avail myself of the term creation for convenience, I would like it to be understood without any emphasis, in the simple sense of poiein, ‘to produce’” — which, also, is how Agamben often seems to abstractly link poetics to the foundation of politics, referring to them as simply two dimensions of the “deeds of man” in a generic sense).
The short section “In the Name of What?” is especially intriguing, since it begs the question, for readers of Agamben, in the name of what is he himself writing? It is clearly not: religion, any coherent “existentialism,” a political ideology, etc. For Agamben, it seems that the mysterious foundation of language itself, filled with potentiality, is what he is willing to claim as the only honest self-professed inspiration, and all the implications this may have for poetics and politics (“…the one who finally decides to speak—or to keep silent—in the name of this demand does not need, for his word or silence, any other legitimacy”).