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The Automatic Muse: Surrealist Novels
Contains four surrealist novels produced through the technique of automatic writing: Mourning for Mourning by Robert Desnos, The Cardinal Point by Michel Leiris, The Polar Child by Georges Limbour, and The Elegant Ewe by Benjamin Péret.
- GenresFictionArtLiterature
169 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1994
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About the author
Robert Desnos
138 books111 followersRobert Desnos (4 July 1900 – 8 June 1945) was a French surrealist poet who played a key role in the Surrealist movement of his day.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
May 24, 2017
Four pieces emerged from the haze of early surrealism, when the only way to move forward from the anarchic stasis of dada without falling back on staid literary tradition (ie "plot", "character", "theme", etc) seemed to be to plunge fully into the subconscious and retrieve whatever one found there. Despite the similar terms of composition -- automatic writing, either from within an induced trance state or in a rush of words that allowed no time for conscious control -- each of these four authors has quite an entirely different style.
Desnos flows in an orderly progression of concepts, somehow seeming coherent without typically giving way to any sort of usual storytelling, with a strange sense of purpose and depth that refuses any attempt to pin it down. In some ways, I think he's the best pure automatician, and it's no surprise that his involvement with surrealism extends pretty much only over that period of their development but in profusion.
Leiris, initially, seems to be almost telling a linear narrative, of a kind of odyssey through an abandoned theater. If this was indeed composed "automatically" (but who is to say what is or is not) it's rather remarkable. As with Desnos' section and all the others, Leiris' is composed of a number of only-tangentially-related parts, and the others gradually fall away into a greater sense of disconnection and dreamy illogic, as a series of travelers tell unrelated stories, and he's a bit less distinguished here.
Limbour, like Desnos, is nearly free of all trappings of plot, but still maintains an odd coherency and sense of submerged meaning. Amidst the others, it's the least noticeably distinguished (also shortest), though line-by-line a pleasure to read, particularly aloud.
Peret, the most openly nonsensical, closes the set. While he keeps tight reigns on his details for a kind of self-consistancy, every aspect of his world and cast may undergo any transformation or change at any moment. I've read two other Peret "novels" and tend to find him a little overwhelming at length -- his chaotic humor can read like very erudite madlibs, but he is undeniably in possession of a virtuoso imagination and ability to constantly astonish.
I'm not sure that in any of the above I'm managed to make clear why anyone should read such things, but they have an energy and inspiration entirely their own. To be read aloud on a crowded subway to inspire strangers to revolt, perhaps.
Desnos flows in an orderly progression of concepts, somehow seeming coherent without typically giving way to any sort of usual storytelling, with a strange sense of purpose and depth that refuses any attempt to pin it down. In some ways, I think he's the best pure automatician, and it's no surprise that his involvement with surrealism extends pretty much only over that period of their development but in profusion.
Leiris, initially, seems to be almost telling a linear narrative, of a kind of odyssey through an abandoned theater. If this was indeed composed "automatically" (but who is to say what is or is not) it's rather remarkable. As with Desnos' section and all the others, Leiris' is composed of a number of only-tangentially-related parts, and the others gradually fall away into a greater sense of disconnection and dreamy illogic, as a series of travelers tell unrelated stories, and he's a bit less distinguished here.
Limbour, like Desnos, is nearly free of all trappings of plot, but still maintains an odd coherency and sense of submerged meaning. Amidst the others, it's the least noticeably distinguished (also shortest), though line-by-line a pleasure to read, particularly aloud.
Peret, the most openly nonsensical, closes the set. While he keeps tight reigns on his details for a kind of self-consistancy, every aspect of his world and cast may undergo any transformation or change at any moment. I've read two other Peret "novels" and tend to find him a little overwhelming at length -- his chaotic humor can read like very erudite madlibs, but he is undeniably in possession of a virtuoso imagination and ability to constantly astonish.
I'm not sure that in any of the above I'm managed to make clear why anyone should read such things, but they have an energy and inspiration entirely their own. To be read aloud on a crowded subway to inspire strangers to revolt, perhaps.
July 13, 2008
There was a time over 30 yrs ago when I studied Surrealism w/ great interest. When I was in my late teens or early 20s I tried sleeping w/ a pencil or a pen tied to my hand w/ a sheet of paper nearby as an experiment in trying to generate more authentic Automatic Writing than what I thought others before me had created. Predictably, nothing more than a few scribbles & rips resulted. I'd already written dream accounts starting around age 13 - before I'd probably heard of Surrealism.
The history of Surrealism that I was familiar w/ stressed that its alpha male, André Breton, 'excommunicated' many Surrealists for being too impure or whatever & that sort of thing put me off of him at least. Any movement w/ a leader ain't for me. I remember reading that Robert Desnos, one of the authors here, had been kicked out by Breton partially b/c he started writing Alexandrine verse (or was at least ostracized later for doing so) - a more traditional form that emphasized rhyming schemes rather than automatism. I cd both understand the desire to be rigorous - & find it stupid to kick someone out. I remember a picture of Desnos w/ heavy bags under his eyes - the story being that he was so deep into trance-generated writing that he was precipitously close to being comatose (not really an accurate description but I'm writing quickly here). Desnos' piece is the longest of the 4.
As w/ all Atlas Press bks, this one is scholarly enuf to have at least one writer in it I don't think I was previously familiar w/: Georges Limbour. Michel Leiris I've probably encountered but only remember by name. Benjamin Péret I remember mainly b/c of a foto of him spitting at a priest. That fierce anti-clericalism always appealed to me & made me curious. & it was his 'novel' that appealed to me the most.
The question is, though, just what IS "automatic writing"? Is stream-of-consciousness automatic writing? Is free association automatic writing? In translator Terry Hale's intro, distinctions between the writers' styles are explained. In the end, though, I just think these guys were good extemporizers & that each person's style comes thru. Peret was probably funny-as-fuck to be around. & then there's the IMAGERY w/ wch the whole bk abounds:
"I am alone, that's true, but to well-born souls the necklace does not count on the number of diamonds. One day I was in a barn with the straw and the cows. The cows were eating the straw and vice-versa, however strange that might seem to you. And yet what happened to me next is even stranger. I was gazing with the rapture that is called for by such a spectacle, the cows eating the straw, when the roof of the barn split open along its entire length. A white sheet slipped through the opening and flapped in a wind I did not feel. Then, slowly, it descended to the ground. The ground opened in its turn. And pursuing a rigidly perpendicular course, I saw a small goldfish descend from the roof along the sheet and bury itself in the soil. It was followed by a second and a third. In a word, their number increased as quickly as their size and the rarification of the air in the upper reaches of the atmosphere permitted. The wind rose, and the barn slid along the ground. When I say it slid . . . it subsided, or rather they took off, for the barn was divided in two. One half divided with the straw and the other half with the cows, and each in a different direction, ending up in the same place: the mountain of rabbit-skins."
In the end, I feel stupid reading this in translation. Regardless of what a good job Hale & Iain White do, it's obvious that's something's missing in English. A flow. I'm sure that all sorts of alliterations & allusions, phonetic linkages are lost. There are footnotes that explain some things but, much else is obviously lost. Take, eg, "You presume to assume the features of a salt-cellar so as to be able to go from urn to urn with the attitudes of an English cigarette": There's a bk of writings by Marcel Duchamp called "Salt Seller" in wch a pun is made of Duchamp's name as "Marchand du Sel" - ie: a "salt seller", a merchant of salt. En Français, "cellar" = "cave", & ecclesiastically speaking, a "cellarer" = "cellérier". According to Arturo Schwarz, it was Robert Desnos who transformed Duchamp's name as such. At any rate, fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the pun of an Frenchymun.
The history of Surrealism that I was familiar w/ stressed that its alpha male, André Breton, 'excommunicated' many Surrealists for being too impure or whatever & that sort of thing put me off of him at least. Any movement w/ a leader ain't for me. I remember reading that Robert Desnos, one of the authors here, had been kicked out by Breton partially b/c he started writing Alexandrine verse (or was at least ostracized later for doing so) - a more traditional form that emphasized rhyming schemes rather than automatism. I cd both understand the desire to be rigorous - & find it stupid to kick someone out. I remember a picture of Desnos w/ heavy bags under his eyes - the story being that he was so deep into trance-generated writing that he was precipitously close to being comatose (not really an accurate description but I'm writing quickly here). Desnos' piece is the longest of the 4.
As w/ all Atlas Press bks, this one is scholarly enuf to have at least one writer in it I don't think I was previously familiar w/: Georges Limbour. Michel Leiris I've probably encountered but only remember by name. Benjamin Péret I remember mainly b/c of a foto of him spitting at a priest. That fierce anti-clericalism always appealed to me & made me curious. & it was his 'novel' that appealed to me the most.
The question is, though, just what IS "automatic writing"? Is stream-of-consciousness automatic writing? Is free association automatic writing? In translator Terry Hale's intro, distinctions between the writers' styles are explained. In the end, though, I just think these guys were good extemporizers & that each person's style comes thru. Peret was probably funny-as-fuck to be around. & then there's the IMAGERY w/ wch the whole bk abounds:
"I am alone, that's true, but to well-born souls the necklace does not count on the number of diamonds. One day I was in a barn with the straw and the cows. The cows were eating the straw and vice-versa, however strange that might seem to you. And yet what happened to me next is even stranger. I was gazing with the rapture that is called for by such a spectacle, the cows eating the straw, when the roof of the barn split open along its entire length. A white sheet slipped through the opening and flapped in a wind I did not feel. Then, slowly, it descended to the ground. The ground opened in its turn. And pursuing a rigidly perpendicular course, I saw a small goldfish descend from the roof along the sheet and bury itself in the soil. It was followed by a second and a third. In a word, their number increased as quickly as their size and the rarification of the air in the upper reaches of the atmosphere permitted. The wind rose, and the barn slid along the ground. When I say it slid . . . it subsided, or rather they took off, for the barn was divided in two. One half divided with the straw and the other half with the cows, and each in a different direction, ending up in the same place: the mountain of rabbit-skins."
In the end, I feel stupid reading this in translation. Regardless of what a good job Hale & Iain White do, it's obvious that's something's missing in English. A flow. I'm sure that all sorts of alliterations & allusions, phonetic linkages are lost. There are footnotes that explain some things but, much else is obviously lost. Take, eg, "You presume to assume the features of a salt-cellar so as to be able to go from urn to urn with the attitudes of an English cigarette": There's a bk of writings by Marcel Duchamp called "Salt Seller" in wch a pun is made of Duchamp's name as "Marchand du Sel" - ie: a "salt seller", a merchant of salt. En Français, "cellar" = "cave", & ecclesiastically speaking, a "cellarer" = "cellérier". According to Arturo Schwarz, it was Robert Desnos who transformed Duchamp's name as such. At any rate, fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the pun of an Frenchymun.
February 22, 2013
How could this not be but good?
"She laughed, and the obese gentleman was overcome by an irresistible desire to dance a foxtrot with a lamp-post which usually took that familiarity badly and had its own back by depositing its dung on the gentleman's testicles, in the form of a pinch of moss of which the essential property was to give the person who had it on their skin the sensation of being surrounded by four doubles of themselves who repeated their every gesture, and three sheep interminably grazing."
From "The Elegant Ewe" by Benjamin Peret.
"She laughed, and the obese gentleman was overcome by an irresistible desire to dance a foxtrot with a lamp-post which usually took that familiarity badly and had its own back by depositing its dung on the gentleman's testicles, in the form of a pinch of moss of which the essential property was to give the person who had it on their skin the sensation of being surrounded by four doubles of themselves who repeated their every gesture, and three sheep interminably grazing."
From "The Elegant Ewe" by Benjamin Peret.
March 12, 2013
This kind of stuff is never totally going to be my thing, but it is enjoyable nonetheless, and these "novels" contain some startling images.
June 19, 2013
oh, forgot I had read this too. but it was a long time ago...
December 15, 2014
Surrealist poetry is hard enough to come by, let alone prose. Some of the heavy hitters like Breton, Tzara and Desnos are easier to find, and with the good reason that their talent exceeds many of the other writers in the movement. Non the less, this collection was very enjoyable to me. Although understandably some of the pieces, like the one by Limbour, are less Surreal than what the movement's manifesto would have it be, they are still invaluable works of creativity that taken within the context of themselves offer very powerful moments. Although we may try to think of this early avant garde as having a specific agenda, the truth is that each one of the writers of this time differed drastically from each other in their style and this collection offers a great testament to that. I very much recommend this to anyone interested in the movement.
Want to read
June 12, 2016Nate D has written an excellent review. Check it out:
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews