A
shape, if only a shape
Gail Jones
Leslie
Hill, Brian Nelson and Dimitris Vardoulakis (eds)
After Blanchot: Literature, Criticism, Philosophy
University of Delaware Press, $49.95 pb, 279 pp, 0874139465
When
I introduce undergraduates to the work of Maurice Blanchot, I
begin with three simple stories. In the first, a philosopher refuses
to allow himself to be photographed. Foucault tells of engaging
in vig-orous conversation at a May 1968 demonstration with a man
he learned only later was the elusive Blanchot. He was the unrecognised
colleague, invisible and self-effacing, but also enormously productive
(Leslie Hill tells us that his works, if collected, would run
to three dozen volumes). The second story is told in Blanchots
The Writing of the Disaster (1980), in which a small boy
awakens at night, looks out into the blackness and sees no stars,
no presence, nothing beyond. It is a remembered scene,
riveting in its clarity, of originary loss and intimations of
mortality. The third story is without doubt the most well known.
In 1944, Blanchot faced execution by a Nazi firing squad but somehow,
mysteriously, escaped his own death. This bizarre
impossibility, the sense of deaths untimeliness and capricious
propinquity, marks all Blanchots work, his essays, journalism,
fiction and philosophy, and infuses it with a pervasively melancholic
tone.
One of the most gifted French philosophers of the twentieth century
ranking, in particular, with Jacques Derrida and Emmanuel
Levinas he is also the scholar who is interested in how
we might strive against the threat of non-being, how our work,
our forms of symbolic labour, might make it possible to imagine
mourning pre-emptively, as it were, and to find solace in forms
of aesthetic self-fashioning. Blanchots writings on literature
on figures such as Mallarmé, Kafka, Celan and Rilke
are among the most conceptually radical one could hope
to encounter, and are also penetrated to the core by his paradoxical
metaphysics: death-knowing and death-defying, doing and undoing,
in love with the night and with silence, but also finding it,
in the end, utterly and painfully perilous. Without death,
Blanchot wrote in The Work of Fire (1949), everything
would sink into absurdity and nothingness. It is a typical
statement, a possibly holy preoccupation, and it bears an affinity
with what Derrida imagines as the gift of death, the
ontological given against which everything else takes value.
After Blanchot is a collection of essays derived from a
Melbourne conference organised in 2004 by Monash University. For
one who missed this splendid event, it is exciting to see the
calibre of the papers delivered and the audacious range of positions
ratified in its compass. This is a uniformly brilliant collection
of essays. (Other papers, for interested devotees, are collected
in Colloquy, November 2005.) In the short scope of this review,
it is impossible to do justice to After Blanchot. It is
not just that the philosophical complexity of the volume is both
daunting and enticing; it is that, like all serious-minded homages,
the essays carry within them an aspect of mimicry of their figure
of adoration, so that the effect of reading all fifteen essays
in sequence is of reading Blanchot yet again, refracted and echoing,
dispersed and relocated. There is a profound sense of epistemological
solidarity, not just between each scholar and Blanchot, but also
among the contributors themselves. There is also a concern, at
the level of both stylistics and theorising, to honour the singularities
of Blanchots work, typified (to put it somewhat reductively)
by oxymoronic formulations, constitutive anachronism and by all
the tropes of achievement and failure implicit in the tale of
Orpheus and Eurydice, a paradigmatic and sublime emblem for Blanchot
of the status of the aesthetic and its relation to death and loss.
What Blanchot once memorably called the brittleness of the
unsure is also evident in precious and stimulating ways.
The contributions range from those of well-known Blanchot scholars
such as Leslie Hill, Christopher Bident and Kevin Hart, to local
scholars such as Dimitris Vardoulakis, Caroline Scheaffer-Jones
and Elizabeth Presa. These essays remind us, as Eleanor Kaufman
points out in her wonderful piece on Midnight, how
repetitious and consolidated are the movements of Blanchots
thinking. Nevertheless, there are fine and original essays here
on Blanchots connections with others Levinas, René
Girard, Paul de Man and Giorgio Caproni which testify to
the openness and excursiveness of his work, and to the ways in
which he enters into perpetual forms of dialogue and philosophical
mutuality. There are also densely interesting readings of major
texts Death Sentence (1948) and The Space of
Literature (1955), in particular and a clever study
of the notion of sacred speech. Other papers consider
the status of literary criticism, of being Jewish
and the sacred as a category that Blanchot (an atheist) seems
both to avow and disavow. Just as Blanchot considered the process
of reading necessary to bring the written work into
being, so After Blanchot reveals the richness of the ontological
universe of a major scholar who repays the most diligent and fastidious
attention.
Yet the final essay in the volume, by Elizabeth Presa, is one
of the most surprising. Beginning with a sensuous description
of plaster casting, Presa, a sculptor, moves to consider the centrality
of the death mask to Blanchots poetics of art. Like Rilke,
Blanchot possessed a copy of LInconnue de la Seine,
the beautiful, smiling mask of a young girl who drowned in the
Seine in the late nineteenth century. Presa finds in Blanchots
interest in sculpture a fascinating analogy for his wish that
art might fix and resurrect, that there might be a shape, if only
a shape, that persists after death. It is a beautifully rhetorical
gesture to complete an impressive and rigorous volume, for which
the three editors and the contributors should be congratulated.
Gail
Jones is a fiction writer and academic at UWA. Her most recent
novel is Dreams of Speaking (2006).
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