"Que le nu peint par Manet atteigne à tant de vérité grâce à un détail minime, ce ruban qui modernise Olympia et, mieux encore qu'un grain de beauté ou qu'un semis de taches de rousseur, la propose plus précise et plus immédiatement visible, en faisant d'elle une femme pourvue de ses attaches de milieu et d'époque, voilà qui prêtait à réflexion, si ce n'est à divagation !" Michel Leiris.
Born in Paris in 1901, Michel Leiris was a French surrealist writer and ethnographer. In the 1920s he became a member of the surrealist movement and contributed to La révolution surréaliste. In those years, he wrote a surrealist novel: Aurora.
After his exit from the surrealist group, he teamed up with Georges Bataille in the magazine Documents.
An absolute must for Leiris fans. Although fragmented in form, this collection of poems, short and longish prose pieces has direction and builds into a wandering meditation that ends with a rather prescient fear for the state of the world. Billed by Lydia Davis as an exploration of the "expressive power of fetishism", it is more accurately a reflection on art, most explicitly the art of writing, and aging. Leiris works his memories, his dreams, and his observations of Manet's Olympia into a work filled with wisdom, sorrow, and a little of his classic self-deprecating humour.
There are moments and phrases in this book I enjoy, let me start there. I agree with a previous reviewer that the translation seems stiff and overly formal in places, which makes sections (especially the poetry) lumbering and unpleasant. I was hoping for cogent thoughts and critiques of art from a unique perspective, but instead was forced to wade through a lot of an aging Surrealist's obsession with his own dreams, impotence and funhouse-mirror view of women. If you enjoy 20th century male authors worrying about losing their virility (looking at you Hemingway) there's something in this for you for sure. If, like me, you got enough of that in your college reading syllabus, it might be worth it still to pick this up and flip through it, as there are a few thoughts and essays that sparkle with something universal and witty. Not the book I was hoping for.
Life exists in fragments, particularly in the twilight years when memories compound, particularly for writers who think philosophically, poetically, critically. Leiris engages in fragments here, elusively coalescing around Manet's iconic Olympia. The painting offers discussions of desire, autonomy, race, etc. But most poignantly Leiris uses the artwork to think about the act of writing. Mixing poetry, brief recollections (of landscapes, of being propositioned by prostitutes, etc) Leiris creates a collage that is extremely personal yet distanced. He demands engagement from the reader, an investment in finding the connective tissue. It might be read slowly, piecemeal, with each fragment standing on its own-- a little goes a long way in this poetic project that perhaps yearns for a tidier life (and reading experience).
I wonder if the original in French would read better, and if something was lost in translation. Some interesting insights and points although the sentence structure made it difficult to follow and sometimes seemed like too literal a translation. I suppose I was a little disappointed and expected more of this book than I found.
Concept cooler than the product .. maybe it's just me but I didn't really *get it* as a whole work. Enjoyed the small parts of art writing on manet/Olympia but those are few. Some good lines throughout but I don't really .. know .. what this whole thing is about
I’m all for pretentious and fragmentary literature, however I found this indulgent, unenjoyable, and almost unreadable. There were fun flourishes and phrases and moments, however this was ultimately a book I found myself wishing I hadn’t picked up.
Fragmented essays on coming to terms with old age, masculinity, obsessions, aesthetics, and sex. This was less coherent than other works I've read of his. He's more confessional than fictional. But I do like Leiris a lot. He's very addictive.