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卮匕乇丕鬲 賲賳 禺胤丕亘 賲丨亘 鬲鬲亘毓賴丕 氐賮丨丕鬲 睾賷乇 賲賳卮賵乇丞
丨亘 丕賱賲毓乇賮丞貙 賱賰賳賴 兀賷囟丕賸 丕賱丨賷乇丞 丕賱賲賯賱賯丞貙 賵丕賱鬲賱賲賾爻 丕賱匕賷 賷毓胤賷 丕賱鬲賮賰賷乇 丕賱賮賱爻賮賷 亘毓丿 丕賱廿孬丕乇丞. 賵賱賴匕賴 丕賱兀爻亘丕亘 毓賷賳賴丕 賷賰賵賳 丕賱丨亘 賮賱爻賮丞: 賮丕賱賲丨亘 賷賯鬲賱毓 賳賮爻賴 賲賳 賳馗乇鬲賴 丕賱禺丕氐丞貙 賱賰賷 賷賵噩賾賴 廿賱賶 賳賮爻賴 賵廿賱賶 丕賱毓丕賱賲 賳馗乇丞 丕賱丌禺乇貙 賵賷賰丕亘丿 賲丨賳丞 丕賱卮賰 亘毓丿 丕賱丨賲丕爻貙 賵賷睾匕賾賷 丕賱鬲賮賰賷乇 亘丕賱卮賰賵賰. 賴匕丕 丕賱鬲乇丿賾丿 丕賱噩賵賴乇賷 賷丨乇賾乇 丕賱賲丨亘 賲賳 丕賱丕毓鬲丿丕丿 賵賲賳 丕賱丨賲丕賯丞. 賮賮賷 丕賱賵丕賯毓 廿賳 丕賱兀丨賲賯 賱丕 賷毓乇賮 丕賱丨亘 賵丕禺鬲賱丕賱丕鬲賴. 賮賷 賰鬲丕亘賴 賴匕丕 賷乇賷賳丕 亘丕乇鬲 賰賲 兀賳 賮賷 丕賱丨亘 賲賳 丿賮亍賺 賵囟賷丕亍.
賲丐賱賮 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賴賵 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲 (1915-1980): 賳丕賯丿 賵毓丕賱賲 爻賷賲賷丕亍 賮乇賳爻賷. 兀丨丿 兀賴賲 賲丨乇賾賰賷 丕賱賲睾丕賲乇丞 丕賱亘賳賷賵賷丞 賵丕賱爻賷賲賷丕卅賷丞 丕賱賮乇賳爻賷丞
鬲乇噩賲丞 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賱賱丿賰鬲賵乇 毓賱賷 賳噩賷亘 丕亘乇丕賴賷賲: 兀爻鬲丕匕 賲爻丕毓丿 賮賷 賯爻賲 丕賱賱睾丞 丕賱毓乇亘賷丞- 賰賱賷丞 丕賱丌丿丕亘- 噩丕賲毓丞 鬲卮乇賷賳貙 丕賱賱丕匕賯賷丞貙 爻賵乇賷丕.
賲丐賱賮 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賴賵 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲 (1915-1980): 賳丕賯丿 賵毓丕賱賲 爻賷賲賷丕亍 賮乇賳爻賷. 兀丨丿 兀賴賲 賲丨乇賾賰賷 丕賱賲睾丕賲乇丞 丕賱亘賳賷賵賷丞 賵丕賱爻賷賲賷丕卅賷丞 丕賱賮乇賳爻賷丞
鬲乇噩賲丞 丕賱賰鬲丕亘 賱賱丿賰鬲賵乇 毓賱賷 賳噩賷亘 丕亘乇丕賴賷賲: 兀爻鬲丕匕 賲爻丕毓丿 賮賷 賯爻賲 丕賱賱睾丞 丕賱毓乇亘賷丞- 賰賱賷丞 丕賱丌丿丕亘- 噩丕賲毓丞 鬲卮乇賷賳貙 丕賱賱丕匕賯賷丞貙 爻賵乇賷丕.
446 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1977
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About the author
Roland Barthes
371听books2,469听followersRoland Barthes of France applied semiology, the study of signs and symbols, to literary and social criticism.
Ideas of Roland G茅rard Barthes, a theorist, philosopher, and linguist, explored a diverse range of fields. He influenced the development of schools of theory, including design, anthropology, and poststructuralism.
Ideas of Roland G茅rard Barthes, a theorist, philosopher, and linguist, explored a diverse range of fields. He influenced the development of schools of theory, including design, anthropology, and poststructuralism.
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October 7, 2022
Possibly the best book Roland Barthes ever wrote. It's certainly my favourite, having read most of his work. An irrefutable and intense read where, with the recreation of the lover's fevered consciousness, he goes about deconstructing love, to write the the most grandiose, the most detailed and painstaking anatomy of desire that we are ever likely to see. Simply put, these are his thoughts on love in the form of short essays, each one covering the many different aspects of the romantic life. Whether falling in, painfully letting go, or being completely smitten, head over heels in love, Barthes covers it.
After each scene is formulated, Barthes subjects it to a philosophical battering of vigorous analysis, that constantly adds references from literary sources such as Goethe, Nietzsche, Freud, and Rilke, whilst throwing psychological and linguistic perspectives into the mix as well. Although flowing for the most part with a stream-of-consciousness, that does feel dense, and a little self indulgent, there can be no doubt as to its effectiveness throughout. There was an emotional power to his prose, that, for anyone that ever loved, may be reminded, and forced to face up to moments from their own intimate past.
Although this does require much mental effort that really sends one's grey matter into overdrive (especially for those not accustomed with philosophical writings) Barthes strikes a cord deep within with a study of love that is subtle, rich in insight, penetrating the heart as well as the head. Barthes breaks down the human experience of love so effortlessly, but I'm not sure this led me to better understand love, as everyone has their own ways of perceiving it. This was a beautiful and thought provoking read though, that was a pure delight to explore.
December 3, 2021
Fragments d鈥檜n discours amoureux = A Lover's Discourse: Fragments, Roland Barthes
A Lover's Discourse: Fragments is a 1977 book by Roland Barthes.
It contains a list of "fragments", some of which come from literature and some from his own philosophical thought, of a lover's point of view.
Barthes calls them gestures "figures" of the lover at work.
鬲丕乇蹖禺 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 禺賵丕賳卮: 乇賵夭 亘蹖爻鬲 賵 爻賵賲 賲丕賴 賳賵丕賲亘乇 爻丕賱2010賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
毓賳賵丕賳: 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯貨 毓賳賵丕賳 賮乇毓蹖: 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲貨 賲鬲乇噩賲: 倬蹖丕賲 蹖夭丿丕賳噩賵貨 賲卮禺氐丕鬲 賳卮乇 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳卮乇 賲乇讴夭貙 鬲毓丿丕丿 氐賮丨賴312氐貙 趩丕倬 丕賵賱貙 爻丕賱1383貨 趩丕倬 趩賴丕乇賲貙 爻丕賱1388貙 賲賵囟賵毓 賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳 賵 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕 丕夭 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 賮乇丕賳爻賴 - 爻丿賴20賲
賳賯賱 丕夭 讴鬲丕亘: (丕诏乇 毓丕卮賯 卮丿蹖丿 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 乇丕 亘禺賵丕賳蹖丿: (亘诏匕丕乇 丌賳趩賴 (丕夭 丿蹖诏乇蹖) 賲蹖乇爻丿貙 丿乇 乇爻丿貨 亘诏匕丕乇 丌賳趩賴 賲蹖鈥屭柏必� 丿乇 诏匕乇丿貨 賲丕賱讴 賴蹖趩 亘丕卮貙 賴蹖趩鈥� 趩蹖夭 乇丕 倬爻 賳夭賳貙 亘倬匕蹖乇貙 丕賲丕 賳诏賴 賳丿丕乇貙 亘蹖丕賮乇蹖賳 丕賲丕 丕夭 丌賳賽 禺賵丿 賳爻丕夭)貨 倬丕蹖丕賳 賳賯賱
讴鬲丕亘 芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯禄 賳賵卮鬲賴鈥� 蹖 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 亘丕 鬲乇噩賲賴鈥� 蹖 噩賳丕亘 芦倬蹖丕賲 蹖夭丿丕賳噩賵禄 丕爻鬲貨 (賲賳 丌賳 倬丕 亘乇蹖丿賴 鈥屫й� 賴爻鬲賲 讴賴 丿乇丿 乇丕 賴賳賵夭 丿乇 倬丕蹖 亘乇蹖丿賴鈥� 丕卮 丕丨爻丕爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�)貨
丿乇 倬卮鬲 噩賱丿 讴鬲丕亘 丌賲丿賴 丕爻鬲: (爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 爻禺賳蹖 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕爻鬲貨 丕蹖賳 爻禺賳 卮丕蹖丿 亘乇 夭亘丕賳 賴夭丕乇丕賳 鬲賳 噩丕乇蹖 亘丕卮丿貙 丕賲丕 賴蹖趩讴爻 亘賯丕蹖 丌賳 乇丕 囟賲丕賳鬲 賳讴乇丿賴貙 丕蹖賳 爻禺賳蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 夭亘丕賳鈥屬囏й� 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 賲丕 丌賳 乇丕 蹖讴爻乇 賵丕賳賴丕丿賴鈥� 丕賳丿貙 爻禺賳蹖 賳賴 鬲賳賴丕 诏爻爻鬲賴 丕夭 賯丿乇鬲貙 讴賴 賴賲趩賳蹖賳 诏爻爻鬲賴 丕夭 爻丕夭 賵 讴丕乇賴丕蹖 丌賳 芦毓賱賵賲貙 賮賳賵賳 賵 賴賳乇賴丕禄貨 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 噩匕丕亘鈥屫臂屬� 賵 亘賴 蹖丕丿 賲丕賳丿賳蹖鈥屫臂屬� 讴鬲丕亘 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 賵 丌禺乇蹖賳 亘禺卮 丕夭 賯胤毓賴 賳賵蹖爻蹖鈥屬囏� 賵 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖蹖鈥屬囏й� 丕蹖卮丕賳爻鬲貨 丿賵 亘禺卮 丿蹖诏乇 丕蹖賳 爻賴鈥� 诏丕賳賴貙 芦賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳禄 賵 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 賳蹖夭 丕夭 賴賲蹖賳 賯賱賲 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 丕爻鬲)貨 倬丕蹖丕賳 賳賯賱
丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丌禺乇蹖賳 亘禺卮 丕夭 賯胤毓賴 鈥屬嗁堐屫驰屸€屬囏й� 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄 丕爻鬲 (丿賵 亘禺卮 丿蹖诏乇 丕蹖賳 爻賴 诏丕賳賴貙 亘丕 毓賳賵丕賳 芦賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳禄 賵 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄 亘賴 賯賱賲 賴賲蹖賳 賲鬲乇噩賲 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 亘乇诏乇丿丕賳 卮丿賴 丕賳丿)貨
鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 18/11/1399賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 11/09/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
A Lover's Discourse: Fragments is a 1977 book by Roland Barthes.
It contains a list of "fragments", some of which come from literature and some from his own philosophical thought, of a lover's point of view.
Barthes calls them gestures "figures" of the lover at work.
鬲丕乇蹖禺 賳禺爻鬲蹖賳 禺賵丕賳卮: 乇賵夭 亘蹖爻鬲 賵 爻賵賲 賲丕賴 賳賵丕賲亘乇 爻丕賱2010賲蹖賱丕丿蹖
毓賳賵丕賳: 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯貨 毓賳賵丕賳 賮乇毓蹖: 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕貨 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴: 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲貨 賲鬲乇噩賲: 倬蹖丕賲 蹖夭丿丕賳噩賵貨 賲卮禺氐丕鬲 賳卮乇 鬲賴乇丕賳貙 賳卮乇 賲乇讴夭貙 鬲毓丿丕丿 氐賮丨賴312氐貙 趩丕倬 丕賵賱貙 爻丕賱1383貨 趩丕倬 趩賴丕乇賲貙 爻丕賱1388貙 賲賵囟賵毓 賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳 賵 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕 丕夭 賳賵蹖爻賳丿诏丕賳 賮乇丕賳爻賴 - 爻丿賴20賲
賳賯賱 丕夭 讴鬲丕亘: (丕诏乇 毓丕卮賯 卮丿蹖丿 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 乇丕 亘禺賵丕賳蹖丿: (亘诏匕丕乇 丌賳趩賴 (丕夭 丿蹖诏乇蹖) 賲蹖乇爻丿貙 丿乇 乇爻丿貨 亘诏匕丕乇 丌賳趩賴 賲蹖鈥屭柏必� 丿乇 诏匕乇丿貨 賲丕賱讴 賴蹖趩 亘丕卮貙 賴蹖趩鈥� 趩蹖夭 乇丕 倬爻 賳夭賳貙 亘倬匕蹖乇貙 丕賲丕 賳诏賴 賳丿丕乇貙 亘蹖丕賮乇蹖賳 丕賲丕 丕夭 丌賳賽 禺賵丿 賳爻丕夭)貨 倬丕蹖丕賳 賳賯賱
讴鬲丕亘 芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯禄 賳賵卮鬲賴鈥� 蹖 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 亘丕 鬲乇噩賲賴鈥� 蹖 噩賳丕亘 芦倬蹖丕賲 蹖夭丿丕賳噩賵禄 丕爻鬲貨 (賲賳 丌賳 倬丕 亘乇蹖丿賴 鈥屫й� 賴爻鬲賲 讴賴 丿乇丿 乇丕 賴賳賵夭 丿乇 倬丕蹖 亘乇蹖丿賴鈥� 丕卮 丕丨爻丕爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀�)貨
丿乇 倬卮鬲 噩賱丿 讴鬲丕亘 丌賲丿賴 丕爻鬲: (爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 爻禺賳蹖 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 丕爻鬲貨 丕蹖賳 爻禺賳 卮丕蹖丿 亘乇 夭亘丕賳 賴夭丕乇丕賳 鬲賳 噩丕乇蹖 亘丕卮丿貙 丕賲丕 賴蹖趩讴爻 亘賯丕蹖 丌賳 乇丕 囟賲丕賳鬲 賳讴乇丿賴貙 丕蹖賳 爻禺賳蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 夭亘丕賳鈥屬囏й� 倬蹖乇丕賲賵賳 賲丕 丌賳 乇丕 蹖讴爻乇 賵丕賳賴丕丿賴鈥� 丕賳丿貙 爻禺賳蹖 賳賴 鬲賳賴丕 诏爻爻鬲賴 丕夭 賯丿乇鬲貙 讴賴 賴賲趩賳蹖賳 诏爻爻鬲賴 丕夭 爻丕夭 賵 讴丕乇賴丕蹖 丌賳 芦毓賱賵賲貙 賮賳賵賳 賵 賴賳乇賴丕禄貨 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 噩匕丕亘鈥屫臂屬� 賵 亘賴 蹖丕丿 賲丕賳丿賳蹖鈥屫臂屬� 讴鬲丕亘 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 賵 丌禺乇蹖賳 亘禺卮 丕夭 賯胤毓賴 賳賵蹖爻蹖鈥屬囏� 賵 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖蹖鈥屬囏й� 丕蹖卮丕賳爻鬲貨 丿賵 亘禺卮 丿蹖诏乇 丕蹖賳 爻賴鈥� 诏丕賳賴貙 芦賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳禄 賵 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄貙 賳蹖夭 丕夭 賴賲蹖賳 賯賱賲 鬲乇噩賲賴 卮丿賴 丕爻鬲)貨 倬丕蹖丕賳 賳賯賱
丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丌禺乇蹖賳 亘禺卮 丕夭 賯胤毓賴 鈥屬嗁堐屫驰屸€屬囏й� 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄 丕爻鬲 (丿賵 亘禺卮 丿蹖诏乇 丕蹖賳 爻賴 诏丕賳賴貙 亘丕 毓賳賵丕賳 芦賱匕鬲 賲鬲賳禄 賵 芦乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲禄 亘賴 賯賱賲 賴賲蹖賳 賲鬲乇噩賲 亘賴 賮丕乇爻蹖 亘乇诏乇丿丕賳 卮丿賴 丕賳丿)貨
鬲丕乇蹖禺 亘賴賳诏丕賲 乇爻丕賳蹖 18/11/1399賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 11/09/1400賴噩乇蹖 禺賵乇卮蹖丿蹖貨 丕. 卮乇亘蹖丕賳蹖
March 4, 2025
You ever fumble a real one? It鈥檚 okay, you can raise your hand. I鈥檝e done it, we鈥檝e all done it. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and all that shit, right? While many have tried to analyze love from our flirtatious frivolities to our foolhardy follies, Roland Barthes attempts to simulate love across the fragments of his A Lover鈥檚 Discourse. Hey, easy, I mean simulate the experience of being in love not simulating love making, pervs. Anyways, these 80 non-linear fragments have a narratorial approach that harnesses the complexities and chaos of love in a meditative way that transcends the singular into the universal to open a route towards assessing the emotional, psychological, abstract and linguistic components of being in love. That鈥檚 right: linguistic. Barthes is a philosopher and this is nerdy as hell. And I love it.
No, not romantically like the text is about but you get the idea. When Barthes writes his 鈥�language trembles with desire鈥� and these fragments are bound to send you careening down a cavern of memories鈥攁morous, anxious, atrocious, etc. et al鈥攖o be emphatically nodding along or cringing in remembrance. Yet it is through the language that we begin to make sense of the tempest of emotions. 鈥�To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive.鈥� It is why love inspires poetry that shoots up through the stratosphere with emotion or the lack thereof can drop us in sharp descent of sorrow and destruction. He addresses the thematic elements of love like waiting, projection, and suffering as one becomes 鈥�engulfed鈥� by love and looks at struggles around power imbalances or that one may project an idealization over the actuality of the lover. Following through a dramatization of the entire arc of love as if effecting a dictionary of lover鈥檚 emotional states, A Lover鈥檚 Discourse makes for a riveting and thought provoking read teeming with emotion and epiphanic insight.
鈥�I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds; but of these hundreds, I love only one.鈥�
Austrian poet once wrote 鈥�Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other.鈥� Across Barthe鈥檚 fragments, told in a jumble of internal monolugues not unlike the way our heart ricochettes between emotions in loves early onset, we find two solitudes that meet and begin the interplay of romance and entwining solitudes. But, as warns 鈥�Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.鈥� Once love is in grasp, it can often be the hardest to hold onto and Barthe鈥檚 traces the language of this through moments that hit hard and may bruise the reader when it kicks your memory in the shin. I鈥檝e always felt love was not the easy moments, but the hard moments when you must pour love into the cracks to keep them from crumbling. That flaws are an opportunity to love harder. Or, as wrote 鈥�you don鈥檛 love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.鈥� Yet this book wouldn鈥檛 be of much value without plunging us into the despair of loss thrashing about the void of the lover鈥檚 absence under the ruins of love. Following each fragment, Barthes steps in to pummel it which philosophical investigation and shake it upside down until all the insights come tumbling from its pockets. He employs analytics from thinkers like , , and others in explorations on time, identity and power.
鈥�First best is falling in love, second best is being in love. Least best is falling out of love. But any of it is better than never having been in love.鈥�
鈥�
This book hits with wave after wave of poetic emotion. There are the highs: 鈥�I cannot get over having had this good fortune: to meet what matches my desire.鈥� But there are also the lows: 鈥�The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.鈥� It is a painful march towards romantic decay and much pain comes from not knowing how to properly love the other. In this we see Barthe鈥檚 first major conundrum around love with the lover projecting onto the beloved. It鈥檚 like when your friend has a crush and describes them as some mythical being who can do no wrong and you realize they perhaps love 鈥渢he idea鈥� of the person instead of the actual person, who inevitably contains foibles and flaws. 鈥�The subject suddenly realises that he is imprisoning the loved object in a net of tyrannies,鈥� sees the beloved as an idea that is not their true identity and is thereby loving something that does not exist. We must, as wrote, 鈥�love the things we love for what they are.鈥� And in projecting themself, upon discovering the foolishness of the projection and losing it, they in turn lose themselves.
Which is a real tragedy that, in love, when you lose yourself, you tend to lose your lover. 鈥�It is my desire I desire, and the loved being is no more than its tool,鈥� the subject realizes, and in this they also realize the lover has been objectified under their language.
鈥�I can do everything with my language but not with my body. What I hide by my language, my body utters. I can deliberately mold my message, not my voice. By my voice, whatever it says, the other will recognize "that something is wrong with me".鈥�
Often one loses themself out of fear for losing the lover and we see Barthes鈥� subject strangle their relationship with jealousies and anxieties. It is an examination on how dependency functions and how an obsessive relation straps all sense of self worth into the dependency.
This sort of obsessive, jealous relationship reveals how it is a sense of wanting to possess the lover as opposed to authentically loving them. Barthes looks at how the language shows a 鈥�will-to-possess鈥� which is an erratic desire where 鈥� the adult is superimposed upon the child,鈥� as in, it is a childlike behavior undertaken by adults engaged in adult interpersonal power imbalance. 鈥�Realising that the difficulties of the amorous relationship originate in his ceaseless desire to appropriate the loved being in one way or another, the subject decides to abandon henceforth all 鈥渨ill-to-possess鈥� in his regard,鈥� he writes. The lover must abandon the desire to possess in order to be able to understand a fulfilling love, or love the object of their love. We鈥檝e all seen this happen!
鈥�The imperfect is the tense of fascination: it seems to be alive and yet it doesn't move: imperfect presence, imperfect death; neither oblivion nor resurrection; simply the exhausting lure of memory.鈥�
There is a constant struggle between possession and freedom, creating a power imbalance. But also that lovers must struggle for a balance with who waits, with vulnerability, dependency, etc. or an asymmetrical power structure in the relationship forms. Such a structure tends to break and plunge the subject into absence.
Barthes shows how in the absence of a lover (especially after an obsessive, jealous relationship) the subject is left in a void and shot through with psychological trauma to the extent that they contemplate suicide. They put their whole self into the relationship and without it, lack a self. 鈥�I cannot write myself. What, after all, is this "I" who would write himself?鈥� And here is where we can finally dive into the language of love.
鈥�Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other.鈥�
Barthes doesn鈥檛 mean the 5 Love Languages (mine is Quality Time) but the actual language we use around love and what its linguistic qualities reveal. 鈥�The lover's discourse stifles the other, who finds no place for his own language beneath this massive utterance.鈥� As earlier the subject discovers they cannot 鈥�write myself鈥� without the other, he also bemoans the loss of loves language when love disintegrates. Language decays too:
The phone won鈥檛 ring with your lovers name anymore. You won鈥檛 hear your own name from their voice鈥揳t least not affectionately. The language of love is intrinsically linked to the lovers identity and the linguistics unravel along with love. Barthes also comments too on how often the phrase 鈥�I love you鈥� can seem like a 鈥�blank and meaningless statement鈥� as a factor of how language can destroy language when the term cannot actually touch upon the actuality of love.
鈥�Love has two affirmations. First of all, when the lover encounters the other, there is an immediate affirmation (psychologically: dazzlement, enthusiasm, exaltation, mad projection of a fulfilled future: I am devoured by desire, the impulse to be happy): I say yes to everything (blinding myself). There follows a long tunnel: my first yes is riddled by doubts, love鈥檚 value is ceaselessly threatened by depreciation: this is the moment of melancholy passion, the rising of resentment and oblation. Yet I can emerge from this tunnel; I can 鈥榮urmount,鈥� without liquidating; what I have affirmed a first time, I can once again affirm, without repeating it, for then what I affirm is the affirmation, not its contingency. I affirm the first encounter in its difference, I desire its return, not its repetition. I say to the other (old or new): Let us begin again.鈥�
Roland Barthes A Lover鈥檚 Discourse is a dense yet endlessly readable and accessible work bursting with emotion and insight. It may open a lot of old wounds, but by reading it you may also address the past with fresh eyes and, guided by his philosophical musings, put bad memories to rest, accept them, or heal from it. A bit slow and ponderous, feeling at times like a textbook on love and at others like the most emotive poetry you can imagine, A Lover鈥檚 Discourse is at all times profound and a very worthwhile read.
4.5/5
鈥�To be engulfed: outburst of annihilation which affects the amorous subject in despair or fulfillment. At its best, when it鈥檚 fulfillment, it鈥檚 a kind of disappearance at will. An easeful death. Death liberated from dying.鈥�
No, not romantically like the text is about but you get the idea. When Barthes writes his 鈥�language trembles with desire鈥� and these fragments are bound to send you careening down a cavern of memories鈥攁morous, anxious, atrocious, etc. et al鈥攖o be emphatically nodding along or cringing in remembrance. Yet it is through the language that we begin to make sense of the tempest of emotions. 鈥�To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive.鈥� It is why love inspires poetry that shoots up through the stratosphere with emotion or the lack thereof can drop us in sharp descent of sorrow and destruction. He addresses the thematic elements of love like waiting, projection, and suffering as one becomes 鈥�engulfed鈥� by love and looks at struggles around power imbalances or that one may project an idealization over the actuality of the lover. Following through a dramatization of the entire arc of love as if effecting a dictionary of lover鈥檚 emotional states, A Lover鈥檚 Discourse makes for a riveting and thought provoking read teeming with emotion and epiphanic insight.
鈥�I encounter millions of bodies in my life; of these millions, I may desire some hundreds; but of these hundreds, I love only one.鈥�
Austrian poet once wrote 鈥�Love consists of this: two solitudes that meet, protect and greet each other.鈥� Across Barthe鈥檚 fragments, told in a jumble of internal monolugues not unlike the way our heart ricochettes between emotions in loves early onset, we find two solitudes that meet and begin the interplay of romance and entwining solitudes. But, as warns 鈥�Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.鈥� Once love is in grasp, it can often be the hardest to hold onto and Barthe鈥檚 traces the language of this through moments that hit hard and may bruise the reader when it kicks your memory in the shin. I鈥檝e always felt love was not the easy moments, but the hard moments when you must pour love into the cracks to keep them from crumbling. That flaws are an opportunity to love harder. Or, as wrote 鈥�you don鈥檛 love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.鈥� Yet this book wouldn鈥檛 be of much value without plunging us into the despair of loss thrashing about the void of the lover鈥檚 absence under the ruins of love. Following each fragment, Barthes steps in to pummel it which philosophical investigation and shake it upside down until all the insights come tumbling from its pockets. He employs analytics from thinkers like , , and others in explorations on time, identity and power.
鈥�First best is falling in love, second best is being in love. Least best is falling out of love. But any of it is better than never having been in love.鈥�
鈥�
This book hits with wave after wave of poetic emotion. There are the highs: 鈥�I cannot get over having had this good fortune: to meet what matches my desire.鈥� But there are also the lows: 鈥�The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.鈥� It is a painful march towards romantic decay and much pain comes from not knowing how to properly love the other. In this we see Barthe鈥檚 first major conundrum around love with the lover projecting onto the beloved. It鈥檚 like when your friend has a crush and describes them as some mythical being who can do no wrong and you realize they perhaps love 鈥渢he idea鈥� of the person instead of the actual person, who inevitably contains foibles and flaws. 鈥�The subject suddenly realises that he is imprisoning the loved object in a net of tyrannies,鈥� sees the beloved as an idea that is not their true identity and is thereby loving something that does not exist. We must, as wrote, 鈥�love the things we love for what they are.鈥� And in projecting themself, upon discovering the foolishness of the projection and losing it, they in turn lose themselves.
鈥�I have projected myself into the other with such power that when I am without the other I cannot recover myself, regain myself: I am lost, forever.鈥�
Which is a real tragedy that, in love, when you lose yourself, you tend to lose your lover. 鈥�It is my desire I desire, and the loved being is no more than its tool,鈥� the subject realizes, and in this they also realize the lover has been objectified under their language.
鈥�I can do everything with my language but not with my body. What I hide by my language, my body utters. I can deliberately mold my message, not my voice. By my voice, whatever it says, the other will recognize "that something is wrong with me".鈥�
Often one loses themself out of fear for losing the lover and we see Barthes鈥� subject strangle their relationship with jealousies and anxieties. It is an examination on how dependency functions and how an obsessive relation straps all sense of self worth into the dependency.
鈥�If I acknowledge my dependency, I do so because for me it is a means of signifying my demand: in the realm of love, futility is not a "weakness" or an "absurdity": it is a strong sign: the more futile, the more it signifies and the more it asserts itself as strength.鈥�
This sort of obsessive, jealous relationship reveals how it is a sense of wanting to possess the lover as opposed to authentically loving them. Barthes looks at how the language shows a 鈥�will-to-possess鈥� which is an erratic desire where 鈥� the adult is superimposed upon the child,鈥� as in, it is a childlike behavior undertaken by adults engaged in adult interpersonal power imbalance. 鈥�Realising that the difficulties of the amorous relationship originate in his ceaseless desire to appropriate the loved being in one way or another, the subject decides to abandon henceforth all 鈥渨ill-to-possess鈥� in his regard,鈥� he writes. The lover must abandon the desire to possess in order to be able to understand a fulfilling love, or love the object of their love. We鈥檝e all seen this happen!
鈥�The imperfect is the tense of fascination: it seems to be alive and yet it doesn't move: imperfect presence, imperfect death; neither oblivion nor resurrection; simply the exhausting lure of memory.鈥�
There is a constant struggle between possession and freedom, creating a power imbalance. But also that lovers must struggle for a balance with who waits, with vulnerability, dependency, etc. or an asymmetrical power structure in the relationship forms. Such a structure tends to break and plunge the subject into absence.
鈥�Absence is the figure of privation; simultaneously, I desire and I need. Desire is squashed against need: that is the obsessive phenomenon of all amorous sentiment.鈥�
Barthes shows how in the absence of a lover (especially after an obsessive, jealous relationship) the subject is left in a void and shot through with psychological trauma to the extent that they contemplate suicide. They put their whole self into the relationship and without it, lack a self. 鈥�I cannot write myself. What, after all, is this "I" who would write himself?鈥� And here is where we can finally dive into the language of love.
鈥�Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other.鈥�
Barthes doesn鈥檛 mean the 5 Love Languages (mine is Quality Time) but the actual language we use around love and what its linguistic qualities reveal. 鈥�The lover's discourse stifles the other, who finds no place for his own language beneath this massive utterance.鈥� As earlier the subject discovers they cannot 鈥�write myself鈥� without the other, he also bemoans the loss of loves language when love disintegrates. Language decays too:
鈥�Isn鈥檛 the most sensitive point of this mourning the fact that I must lose a language 鈥� the amorous language? No more 鈥業 love you鈥檚.锟斤拷锟�
The phone won鈥檛 ring with your lovers name anymore. You won鈥檛 hear your own name from their voice鈥揳t least not affectionately. The language of love is intrinsically linked to the lovers identity and the linguistics unravel along with love. Barthes also comments too on how often the phrase 鈥�I love you鈥� can seem like a 鈥�blank and meaningless statement鈥� as a factor of how language can destroy language when the term cannot actually touch upon the actuality of love.
鈥�Love has two affirmations. First of all, when the lover encounters the other, there is an immediate affirmation (psychologically: dazzlement, enthusiasm, exaltation, mad projection of a fulfilled future: I am devoured by desire, the impulse to be happy): I say yes to everything (blinding myself). There follows a long tunnel: my first yes is riddled by doubts, love鈥檚 value is ceaselessly threatened by depreciation: this is the moment of melancholy passion, the rising of resentment and oblation. Yet I can emerge from this tunnel; I can 鈥榮urmount,鈥� without liquidating; what I have affirmed a first time, I can once again affirm, without repeating it, for then what I affirm is the affirmation, not its contingency. I affirm the first encounter in its difference, I desire its return, not its repetition. I say to the other (old or new): Let us begin again.鈥�
Roland Barthes A Lover鈥檚 Discourse is a dense yet endlessly readable and accessible work bursting with emotion and insight. It may open a lot of old wounds, but by reading it you may also address the past with fresh eyes and, guided by his philosophical musings, put bad memories to rest, accept them, or heal from it. A bit slow and ponderous, feeling at times like a textbook on love and at others like the most emotive poetry you can imagine, A Lover鈥檚 Discourse is at all times profound and a very worthwhile read.
4.5/5
鈥�To be engulfed: outburst of annihilation which affects the amorous subject in despair or fulfillment. At its best, when it鈥檚 fulfillment, it鈥檚 a kind of disappearance at will. An easeful death. Death liberated from dying.鈥�
December 10, 2014
A textual conversation between Roland Barthes (RB) and his friend X.:
RB: hey
X: hey Rolly, what's up
RB: went on a date last night, still reeling
X: oh? how'd it go?
RB: I don't know! he said I was adorable. "adorable"!
X: huh?
RB: why would he say that?
RB: like he couldn't think of anything better about me?
RB: god, what a muck of discourse!
X: right.
X: so what did you guys do anyway?
RB: that's the worst of it
RB: we went to dinner at l'Chateau B---
RB: can you believe it?
X: oh I heard that place is great, how was it?
RB: horrible. he ordered us a bottle of Bordeaux, can you believe it?
X: but you love Bordeaux.
RB: that's not the point.
X: I don't get it
RB: oh you're impossible
a little while later with his friend Madame Y:
Y: Rollo, how was the date? he looked smoking!
RB: don't get me started on the smoking. it's like he was trying to alienate me with the mass produced image of masculinity at the expense of human exploitation in North Africa
Y: oh
Y: Well how was it otherwise?
RB: you know, there's no way to tell
Y: well, did he ask you for a second date?
RB: well sure he did
RB: I mean, there's the expectation
RB: I don't even know if I would want to go
RB: and he hasn't even called me yet, you know?
RB: It's been HOURS, Y--.. HOURS
RB: wait, is that the phone, h/o
RB: nope just Susan following me on twitter, ugh
RB: Y--? you there?
A month later, with X:
X: hey Roland, haven't seen you in a while
RB: oh hi
RB: yea I've been busy
X: oh? new book?
RB: you could say that
RB: the book of LA COEUR
X: oh?
RB: I'm in love
X: congratulations! :)
RB: congratulations? don't you understand the kind of torment this is? X: huh?
RB: love is torture.
RB: like prometheus, I steal some fire, some love, and am forever forced to die and be reborn, to have my heart pecked out to death and then replenish for renewed torment!
X: seems like a bit of an overreaction
X: do you guys get along?
RB: of course we GET ALONG. WE ARE IN LOVE!
RB: but I wonder if he loves me more than I love him?
RB: you've met him once, what do you think?
X: oh, I don't know, it was a while ago!
X: I haven't seen either of you in a while
RB: oh?
RB: I wonder if it is TORMENTING him that I haven't called?
RB: see I said I would call
RB: but I'm just waiting for him to call me
X: why?
RB: you don't get it
RB: I wonder why he hasn't called me?
RB: maybe there's something wrong with my landline?
RB: ... ttyl gotta make a call
and:
RB: ma cherie
Y: Roland!
RB: long time, my dear!
Y: yes! we should get tea!
RB: I'm actually super busy. love. you know how it is.
RB: anyway
RB: so last night he texted me "can't make it sunday. sorry."
RB: WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?
Y: well seems like he can't make it on sunday
RB: ugh, you don't get it
RB: like can't MAKE it? "MAKE"?
Y: ??
RB: why "make"?
RB: and don't get me started on "sorry."
RB: SORRY PERIOD
RB: do you believe that?
RB: do you think there is someone else?
RB: can you get tea with him tomorrow and ask him if he is mad at me?
RB: but subtly, you know
RB: I don't want him to think that I think he is mad at me
RB: I'd appreciate it
RB: btw did I hear you were divorced? sorry to hear it
RB: you think you could do me this little favor though?
RB: Y---?
RB: hey
X: hey Rolly, what's up
RB: went on a date last night, still reeling
X: oh? how'd it go?
RB: I don't know! he said I was adorable. "adorable"!
X: huh?
RB: why would he say that?
RB: like he couldn't think of anything better about me?
RB: god, what a muck of discourse!
X: right.
X: so what did you guys do anyway?
RB: that's the worst of it
RB: we went to dinner at l'Chateau B---
RB: can you believe it?
X: oh I heard that place is great, how was it?
RB: horrible. he ordered us a bottle of Bordeaux, can you believe it?
X: but you love Bordeaux.
RB: that's not the point.
X: I don't get it
RB: oh you're impossible
a little while later with his friend Madame Y:
Y: Rollo, how was the date? he looked smoking!
RB: don't get me started on the smoking. it's like he was trying to alienate me with the mass produced image of masculinity at the expense of human exploitation in North Africa
Y: oh
Y: Well how was it otherwise?
RB: you know, there's no way to tell
Y: well, did he ask you for a second date?
RB: well sure he did
RB: I mean, there's the expectation
RB: I don't even know if I would want to go
RB: and he hasn't even called me yet, you know?
RB: It's been HOURS, Y--.. HOURS
RB: wait, is that the phone, h/o
RB: nope just Susan following me on twitter, ugh
RB: Y--? you there?
A month later, with X:
X: hey Roland, haven't seen you in a while
RB: oh hi
RB: yea I've been busy
X: oh? new book?
RB: you could say that
RB: the book of LA COEUR
X: oh?
RB: I'm in love
X: congratulations! :)
RB: congratulations? don't you understand the kind of torment this is? X: huh?
RB: love is torture.
RB: like prometheus, I steal some fire, some love, and am forever forced to die and be reborn, to have my heart pecked out to death and then replenish for renewed torment!
X: seems like a bit of an overreaction
X: do you guys get along?
RB: of course we GET ALONG. WE ARE IN LOVE!
RB: but I wonder if he loves me more than I love him?
RB: you've met him once, what do you think?
X: oh, I don't know, it was a while ago!
X: I haven't seen either of you in a while
RB: oh?
RB: I wonder if it is TORMENTING him that I haven't called?
RB: see I said I would call
RB: but I'm just waiting for him to call me
X: why?
RB: you don't get it
RB: I wonder why he hasn't called me?
RB: maybe there's something wrong with my landline?
RB: ... ttyl gotta make a call
and:
RB: ma cherie
Y: Roland!
RB: long time, my dear!
Y: yes! we should get tea!
RB: I'm actually super busy. love. you know how it is.
RB: anyway
RB: so last night he texted me "can't make it sunday. sorry."
RB: WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN!?
Y: well seems like he can't make it on sunday
RB: ugh, you don't get it
RB: like can't MAKE it? "MAKE"?
Y: ??
RB: why "make"?
RB: and don't get me started on "sorry."
RB: SORRY PERIOD
RB: do you believe that?
RB: do you think there is someone else?
RB: can you get tea with him tomorrow and ask him if he is mad at me?
RB: but subtly, you know
RB: I don't want him to think that I think he is mad at me
RB: I'd appreciate it
RB: btw did I hear you were divorced? sorry to hear it
RB: you think you could do me this little favor though?
RB: Y---?
April 27, 2018
丿乇 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘貙 賮蹖賱爻賵賮 賮乇丕賳爻賵蹖 賵 賲賳鬲賯丿 丕丿亘蹖貙 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲貙 鬲賱丕卮 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀� 鬲丕 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賯賵蹖鈥屫臂屬� 丕丨爻丕爻丕鬲 丕賳爻丕賳蹖 乇丕 賲賵乇丿 鬲丨賱蹖賱 賯乇丕乇 丿賴丿: 毓卮賯鈥�.
亘丕乇鬲 丕丿毓丕 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀� 讴賴 噩丕賲毓賴鈥屰� 賲丿乇賳 丕夭 賮賯丿丕賳 蹖讴 夭亘丕賳 亘乇丕蹖 鬲丨賱蹖賱 賲爻丕賱賴 毓卮賯 乇賳噩 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ必�. 亘賴 毓賯蹖丿賴 亘丕乇鬲貙 亘丿賵賳 賵噩賵丿 蹖讴 爻蹖爻鬲賲 鬲丨賱蹖賱蹖 賵 鬲賮爻蹖乇蹖 丕夭 毓卮賯貙 賯丕丿乇 亘賴 乇賴丕蹖蹖 丕夭 賮乇賲鈥屬囏й� 睾蹖乇 爻丕賱賲 賵 睾蹖乇 亘丕夭鬲丕亘蹖 丕夭 毓卮賯 賳禺賵丕賴蹖賲 亘賵丿. 賵 丕蹖賳 賳讴鬲賴 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 氐丿賲丕鬲 乇賵丕賳蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 亘乇丕蹖 胤乇賮蹖賳 丿乇诏蹖乇 丕蹖噩丕丿 讴賳丿鈥�.
亘丕乇鬲 賲丿毓蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿乇 蹖讴 乇丕亘胤賴 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 丿乇爻鬲貙 毓卮賯 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 賲賳亘毓 丕賱賴丕賲丕鬲 賵 丕賲蹖丿亘禺卮 亘丕卮丿. 丿乇 丨丕賱蹖 讴賴 丿乇 蹖讴 賮乇賲 賳丕爻丕賱賲貙 毓卮賯 賲蹖鬲賵丕賳丿 賲賳亘毓 丿乇丿賴丕蹖 丿乇丿賴丕蹖 乇賵丕賳蹖貙 毓賱鬲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 蹖丕 夭禺賲鈥屬囏й� 毓賲蹖賯蹖 亘丕卮丿 讴賴 卮丕蹖丿 亘乇丕蹖 賴賲蹖卮賴貙 丿賵 胤乇賮 乇丕 丿乇诏蹖乇 讴賳丿鈥�.
亘賴 毓賳賵丕賳 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 倬蹖卮乇賵丕賳 倬爻丕爻丕禺鬲丕乇诏乇丕蹖蹖貙 乇賵蹖讴乇丿 亘丕乇鬲 丿乇 賲賵乇丿 亘丨乇丕賳 乇賵丕亘胤 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 鬲丕 丨丿 夭蹖丕丿蹖 賲賳丨氐乇 亘賴 賮乇丿 賵 蹖诏丕賳賴 丕爻鬲. 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 賵丕賯毓 丕夭 鬲毓丿丕丿蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 丕夭 賯胤毓丕鬲 鬲卮讴蹖賱 卮丿賴貙 讴賴 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 丿乇 賴乇 賯胤毓賴貙 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲爻丕卅賱蹖 乇丕 讴賴 蹖讴 毓丕卮賯 倬乇賵鬲丕诏賵賳蹖爻鬲 丿乇 乇丕亘胤賴鈥屫ж� 亘丕 賲毓卮賵賯 亘丕 丌賳 乇賵亘乇賵爻鬲貙 丕夭 亘賵丿賳 丿乇 丌睾賵卮 賲毓卮賵賯貙 鬲丕 鬲卮賵蹖卮 賵 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж臂� 丕夭 蹖讴 鬲毓賱蹖賯 夭賲丕賳蹖 賵 丨鬲蹖 鬲賲丕爻鈥屬囏й� 鬲賱賮賳蹖 乇丕 賲賵乇丿 亘乇乇爻蹖 賯乇丕乇 丿丕丿賴 丕爻鬲鈥�.
讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 賵丕賯毓 丌賲蹖夭賴鈥屫й� 丕夭 賮賱爻賮賴 賵 乇賵丕賳卮賳丕爻蹖 亘丕 胤毓賲 夭亘丕賳鈥屫促嗀ж池з嗁� 丕爻鬲. 讴賴 賳孬乇蹖 睾賳蹖 賵 賵囟賵丨蹖 賳賮賵匕倬匕蹖乇 丿丕乇丿. 丿乇 爻乇丕爻乇 賲鬲賳貙 亘丕乇鬲 丕乇噩丕毓丕鬲 噩丕賱亘蹖 亘賴 賲賳丕亘毓 丕丿亘蹖 賵 賮賱爻賮蹖 賴賲趩賵賳 诏賵鬲賴貙 賱丕讴丕賳貙 賳蹖趩賴貙 賮乇賵蹖丿貙 乇蹖賱讴賴 賵 丕爻鬲丕賳丿丕賱 丿丕丿賴 丕爻鬲. 丕賱亘鬲賴 亘乇丕蹖 賲胤丕賱毓賴 讴鬲丕亘貙 賳蹖丕夭 噩丿蹖鈥屫й� 亘賴 丌卮賳丕蹖蹖 丕賵賱蹖賴 亘丕 丌孬丕乇 丕蹖賳 丕賳丿蹖卮賲賳丿丕賳 賳禺賵丕賴蹖丿 丿丕卮鬲鈥�.
丿賴賴鈥屬囏� 亘毓丿 丕夭 賳诏丕乇卮 丕賵賱蹖賳 賳爻禺賴 丕蹖賳 丕孬乇貙 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 讴賲丕讴丕賳 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 鬲讴丕賳鈥屫囐嗀団€屫臂屬� 丌孬丕乇 丿乇 丕蹖賳 夭賲蹖賳賴 丕爻鬲. 賵 丕賱亘鬲賴 丿乇 噩丕蹖诏丕賴 賵蹖跇賴鈥屰� 讴鬲丕亘禺丕賳賴鈥屰� 賲賳 賯乇丕乇 丿丕乇丿鈥�.
亘丕乇鬲 丕丿毓丕 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗀� 讴賴 噩丕賲毓賴鈥屰� 賲丿乇賳 丕夭 賮賯丿丕賳 蹖讴 夭亘丕賳 亘乇丕蹖 鬲丨賱蹖賱 賲爻丕賱賴 毓卮賯 乇賳噩 賲蹖鈥屫ㄘ必�. 亘賴 毓賯蹖丿賴 亘丕乇鬲貙 亘丿賵賳 賵噩賵丿 蹖讴 爻蹖爻鬲賲 鬲丨賱蹖賱蹖 賵 鬲賮爻蹖乇蹖 丕夭 毓卮賯貙 賯丕丿乇 亘賴 乇賴丕蹖蹖 丕夭 賮乇賲鈥屬囏й� 睾蹖乇 爻丕賱賲 賵 睾蹖乇 亘丕夭鬲丕亘蹖 丕夭 毓卮賯 賳禺賵丕賴蹖賲 亘賵丿. 賵 丕蹖賳 賳讴鬲賴 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 氐丿賲丕鬲 乇賵丕賳蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 亘乇丕蹖 胤乇賮蹖賳 丿乇诏蹖乇 丕蹖噩丕丿 讴賳丿鈥�.
亘丕乇鬲 賲丿毓蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿乇 蹖讴 乇丕亘胤賴 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 丿乇爻鬲貙 毓卮賯 賲蹖鈥屫堌з嗀� 賲賳亘毓 丕賱賴丕賲丕鬲 賵 丕賲蹖丿亘禺卮 亘丕卮丿. 丿乇 丨丕賱蹖 讴賴 丿乇 蹖讴 賮乇賲 賳丕爻丕賱賲貙 毓卮賯 賲蹖鬲賵丕賳丿 賲賳亘毓 丿乇丿賴丕蹖 丿乇丿賴丕蹖 乇賵丕賳蹖貙 毓賱鬲蹖 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丿讴卮蹖 蹖丕 夭禺賲鈥屬囏й� 毓賲蹖賯蹖 亘丕卮丿 讴賴 卮丕蹖丿 亘乇丕蹖 賴賲蹖卮賴貙 丿賵 胤乇賮 乇丕 丿乇诏蹖乇 讴賳丿鈥�.
亘賴 毓賳賵丕賳 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 倬蹖卮乇賵丕賳 倬爻丕爻丕禺鬲丕乇诏乇丕蹖蹖貙 乇賵蹖讴乇丿 亘丕乇鬲 丿乇 賲賵乇丿 亘丨乇丕賳 乇賵丕亘胤 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 鬲丕 丨丿 夭蹖丕丿蹖 賲賳丨氐乇 亘賴 賮乇丿 賵 蹖诏丕賳賴 丕爻鬲. 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 賵丕賯毓 丕夭 鬲毓丿丕丿蹖 夭蹖丕丿蹖 丕夭 賯胤毓丕鬲 鬲卮讴蹖賱 卮丿賴貙 讴賴 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 丿乇 賴乇 賯胤毓賴貙 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 賲爻丕卅賱蹖 乇丕 讴賴 蹖讴 毓丕卮賯 倬乇賵鬲丕诏賵賳蹖爻鬲 丿乇 乇丕亘胤賴鈥屫ж� 亘丕 賲毓卮賵賯 亘丕 丌賳 乇賵亘乇賵爻鬲貙 丕夭 亘賵丿賳 丿乇 丌睾賵卮 賲毓卮賵賯貙 鬲丕 鬲卮賵蹖卮 賵 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж臂� 丕夭 蹖讴 鬲毓賱蹖賯 夭賲丕賳蹖 賵 丨鬲蹖 鬲賲丕爻鈥屬囏й� 鬲賱賮賳蹖 乇丕 賲賵乇丿 亘乇乇爻蹖 賯乇丕乇 丿丕丿賴 丕爻鬲鈥�.
讴鬲丕亘 丿乇 賵丕賯毓 丌賲蹖夭賴鈥屫й� 丕夭 賮賱爻賮賴 賵 乇賵丕賳卮賳丕爻蹖 亘丕 胤毓賲 夭亘丕賳鈥屫促嗀ж池з嗁� 丕爻鬲. 讴賴 賳孬乇蹖 睾賳蹖 賵 賵囟賵丨蹖 賳賮賵匕倬匕蹖乇 丿丕乇丿. 丿乇 爻乇丕爻乇 賲鬲賳貙 亘丕乇鬲 丕乇噩丕毓丕鬲 噩丕賱亘蹖 亘賴 賲賳丕亘毓 丕丿亘蹖 賵 賮賱爻賮蹖 賴賲趩賵賳 诏賵鬲賴貙 賱丕讴丕賳貙 賳蹖趩賴貙 賮乇賵蹖丿貙 乇蹖賱讴賴 賵 丕爻鬲丕賳丿丕賱 丿丕丿賴 丕爻鬲. 丕賱亘鬲賴 亘乇丕蹖 賲胤丕賱毓賴 讴鬲丕亘貙 賳蹖丕夭 噩丿蹖鈥屫й� 亘賴 丌卮賳丕蹖蹖 丕賵賱蹖賴 亘丕 丌孬丕乇 丕蹖賳 丕賳丿蹖卮賲賳丿丕賳 賳禺賵丕賴蹖丿 丿丕卮鬲鈥�.
丿賴賴鈥屬囏� 亘毓丿 丕夭 賳诏丕乇卮 丕賵賱蹖賳 賳爻禺賴 丕蹖賳 丕孬乇貙 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 讴賲丕讴丕賳 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 鬲讴丕賳鈥屫囐嗀団€屫臂屬� 丌孬丕乇 丿乇 丕蹖賳 夭賲蹖賳賴 丕爻鬲. 賵 丕賱亘鬲賴 丿乇 噩丕蹖诏丕賴 賵蹖跇賴鈥屰� 讴鬲丕亘禺丕賳賴鈥屰� 賲賳 賯乇丕乇 丿丕乇丿鈥�.
July 29, 2013
"Love" seems to me something which is impossible to define, to grasp. Centuries of authors, of philosophers, have tried to do so in vain. There is always something left to be said. As in death, love is a topic of infinite discourse. As Tolstoy echoes in the mouth of Anna Karenina's titular heroine: "'I think... if there are as many minds as there are men, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts.'" Love is infinite in it's permutations, and therefore cannot be defined. What Barthes offers is not a definition of Love, but what it is to be a Lover. Barthes, like his predecessors Proust, Shakespeare, Ovid, Baudelaire, Goethe, Stendhal, etc., is a troubadour of the pains of jealousy disguised as the joys of love. A Lover's Discourse is a masterful fugue of personal experience, literary precedence, and theoretical musing, which evokes emotion in the same pitch as a novel, but elicits introspection with the intellectual skepticism of Hamlet.
As a piece representative of the Barthesian oeuvre, A Lover's Discourse straddles the duality of speech and meaning, of what it means to be a lover, but also the very discourse of love. The book itself is divided pell-mell into short fragments related to the amorous phraseology: "蝉'补产卯尘别谤...," "肠舱耻谤," "肠补蝉茅蝉..." etc. It is the layered language of love which interests Barthes: what do we say when we are in love? - is what we intend what we say? - what does what we say really mean, what does it signify? Though the semiotic approach to love seems distant and cold, it is the inverse which we feel when reading Barthes, whose very language moves the reader to a shudder of feeling:
What does it mean to be in love? It is a notion idealized and raised on high by all men, it is the apparent culmination of our lives. But with Love comes pain. For Barthes Love is inseparable from Jealousy: if we are not jealous, it diminishes our love, it negates it. We can never be happy in love, never truly happy, never complaisant. The lover is always waiting, he must ever have his love validated, requited, and won. Every win in love is a Pyrrhic victory, every favor won is hours, days, of agony paid for. This is the view which Barthes takes, but it is not his argument. His view of love is a flavor of A Lover's Discourse, but it is not the entire course. What do we mean when we declare the object of our love "adorable"? What do we mean when we affirm our love? These are the concerns of Barthes. "What do we mean when we are in love?" no "what do we mean when we say 'I am in love'?"
The question of A Lover's Discourse is not "how does one define love?" but rather, more fundamentally, how does one even begin to discuss it? When we read the Romantics, Byron, Keats, Shelley, we are presented with a view of Love that seems too large, too incompatible with feeble man: something more withheld from man for his imperfections, something which is manifest as a remote deity. Contrarily, when we discuss it in the quotidian tongue, it seems to us too pale a light: it lacks the allure of passion, something is missing. Despite his apotheosis of Language, even Barthes feels its inadequacy in front of the edifice of Love:
As a piece representative of the Barthesian oeuvre, A Lover's Discourse straddles the duality of speech and meaning, of what it means to be a lover, but also the very discourse of love. The book itself is divided pell-mell into short fragments related to the amorous phraseology: "蝉'补产卯尘别谤...," "肠舱耻谤," "肠补蝉茅蝉..." etc. It is the layered language of love which interests Barthes: what do we say when we are in love? - is what we intend what we say? - what does what we say really mean, what does it signify? Though the semiotic approach to love seems distant and cold, it is the inverse which we feel when reading Barthes, whose very language moves the reader to a shudder of feeling:
Am I in love? --yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.Perhaps this book, novelistic essay or essayistic novel, must be read in one's prime, when one is in the throes of passion, to feel the full emotional impact - I do not know if this is the case. As a young man I am always on the precipice of romantic disaster, only in utter solitude, removed from all passionate enterprises, do I feel free from the pharmacopoeia (half-poison, half-remedy) of love. Bliss and misery are the Janus faces of life, in love, in solitude, we cannot have one without the other, even if they only look at us in turns.
The world subjects every enterprise to an alternative; that of success or failure, of victory or defeat... Flouted in my enterprise (as it happens), I emerge from it neither victor nor vanquished: I am tragic.Love, life, and death, are infinite, they are the lands of contradictions, beyond the capacity of language. What is both bliss and misery? What is the concatenation of victory and failure? How does die and yet endure? At these interstices of language lies the fundamental truths of Love.
What does it mean to be in love? It is a notion idealized and raised on high by all men, it is the apparent culmination of our lives. But with Love comes pain. For Barthes Love is inseparable from Jealousy: if we are not jealous, it diminishes our love, it negates it. We can never be happy in love, never truly happy, never complaisant. The lover is always waiting, he must ever have his love validated, requited, and won. Every win in love is a Pyrrhic victory, every favor won is hours, days, of agony paid for. This is the view which Barthes takes, but it is not his argument. His view of love is a flavor of A Lover's Discourse, but it is not the entire course. What do we mean when we declare the object of our love "adorable"? What do we mean when we affirm our love? These are the concerns of Barthes. "What do we mean when we are in love?" no "what do we mean when we say 'I am in love'?"
The question of A Lover's Discourse is not "how does one define love?" but rather, more fundamentally, how does one even begin to discuss it? When we read the Romantics, Byron, Keats, Shelley, we are presented with a view of Love that seems too large, too incompatible with feeble man: something more withheld from man for his imperfections, something which is manifest as a remote deity. Contrarily, when we discuss it in the quotidian tongue, it seems to us too pale a light: it lacks the allure of passion, something is missing. Despite his apotheosis of Language, even Barthes feels its inadequacy in front of the edifice of Love:
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language; that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive (by the limitless expansion of the ego, by emotive submersion) and impoverished (by the codes on which love diminishes and levels it).In front of Love, language is reduced to muck, it is inadequate. Barthes is torn between the deities of Eros and Logos - Love and Language. As a humbled votary genuflecting to the altar of Language, he is prostrate before the temple of Love.
October 27, 2022
I want to cast language out of my body, there's no space for it in me anymore - not even in the little crevices between my joints and in the folds of my skin. Why do I need language anyway, when my body betrays me at every turn, in resonance with every tick of the clock? I want to put my mind in a plaster cast, I no longer want to be language-mad.
I alternatively unrealize and disrealize. I am incapable of looking at anything head-on and I refuse to be looked at head-on. I aesthetize everything. What is gentleness? Come, exchange an impulse with me.
I want to be both charismatic and chaotic. Someone is squeezing my heart, clenching it tight between their fingers and not letting go.
Let me utter everything and nothing. Let me utter love. Let me make the pronouns skid. I want to make love in the night of non-meaning, and let the night illuminate the night. I am vulgar because I am sentimental. I am banalized by literature, by words. I am obscene. I am repressive. I am a lover. And therefore, I cannot be the hero. I cannot have the last word, even though I always want to.
There is a Hindu mythological story about a God who ate soil as a child. On being reprimanded and asked to open his mouth by his mother, he showed her the whole of the universe. Ask me to open my mouth and you will see Barthes' contradictory yet simultaneous existence of language-abyss and language-excess.
I alternatively unrealize and disrealize. I am incapable of looking at anything head-on and I refuse to be looked at head-on. I aesthetize everything. What is gentleness? Come, exchange an impulse with me.
I want to be both charismatic and chaotic. Someone is squeezing my heart, clenching it tight between their fingers and not letting go.
Let me utter everything and nothing. Let me utter love. Let me make the pronouns skid. I want to make love in the night of non-meaning, and let the night illuminate the night. I am vulgar because I am sentimental. I am banalized by literature, by words. I am obscene. I am repressive. I am a lover. And therefore, I cannot be the hero. I cannot have the last word, even though I always want to.
There is a Hindu mythological story about a God who ate soil as a child. On being reprimanded and asked to open his mouth by his mother, he showed her the whole of the universe. Ask me to open my mouth and you will see Barthes' contradictory yet simultaneous existence of language-abyss and language-excess.
March 16, 2025
鈥溾€楢m I in love? 鈥擸es, since I鈥檓 waiting.鈥� The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn鈥檛 wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover鈥檚 fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits.鈥�
(Not a review; just working some stuff out. I haven鈥檛 even finished the book yet. [Update: finished.] To be honest, I don鈥檛 like Barthes all that much.)
A brief and pathetic love episode
We鈥檙e lying together naked, but not yet as lovers. He鈥檚 twenty-two. His body is so long and slender against me, a cream-colored streak across the sheets. His hair is a tousled riot of long chestnut curls, blending into a short scruffy beard and spreading across the pillow, and his eyes are as brown and soft as a spaniel鈥檚. His lips are curved in a soft smile. I鈥檓 lying naked on his hairy chest, my chin resting on top of my hands.
鈥淪o,鈥� I say, 鈥渨hat do you do?鈥�
鈥淚 work on a flower farm.鈥�
鈥淭hat鈥檚 interesting. What did you study in university?鈥�
鈥淚 never went to university.鈥�
鈥淓ver been in a relationship?鈥�
鈥淣ot really.鈥�
鈥淲hy not?鈥�
鈥淚 just don鈥檛 think I have the capacity to worry about someone else.鈥�
鈥淏ut you would have someone to worry about you.鈥�
鈥淵eah, I guess so.鈥�
鈥淎ny siblings?鈥�
鈥淎 sister.鈥�
鈥淥lder or younger?鈥�
鈥淥濒诲别谤.鈥�
鈥淒o you like her?鈥�
鈥淚 like her a lot.鈥�
鈥淎ny hobbies?鈥�
He鈥檚 silent for a moment and then says, smiling, 鈥淔lowers.鈥�
(I look up at that to-die-for face of his and decide that life isn鈥檛 fair. How can someone so gorgeous be so simple? We share no common ground.)
He lifts himself up on one elbow and stares at me. 鈥淚 like you,鈥� he says, giggling.
鈥泪-濒颈办别-测辞耻-迟辞辞.鈥�
鈥淚 think I really like you.鈥�
I鈥檓 taken aback. 鈥淚-think-I-really-like-you-too.鈥�
*
A few weeks later we go out for coffee. He tells me about his father, who died when he was very young. In a car crash. He tells me about his brother, who died a few months ago. Of an overdose. 鈥淚鈥檓 so sorry,鈥� I say pathetically. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e experienced so much loss for someone so young.鈥� He replies, 鈥淚t鈥檚 all right,鈥� and tells me he believes that being exposed to death at a young age has made it easy for him to live in the now, and appreciate the moment.
He drives me to the farm where he sometimes works. I鈥檝e never thought of myself as having a green thumb, or anything else, or as even sentimental about nature, but I鈥檓 fascinated by all that he knows about these flowers. There must be a dozen greenhouses filled with them鈥攇iant chrysanthemums and peonies, Catherine wheels, marigolds and zinnias, button daisies鈥� My favorite are the dahlias, which seem to come in all shades and colors, pinks, corals, lavenders, purples, and white. I ask him what his favorite color is, and he says it鈥檚 salmon, picking out a dahlia with salmon petals. (My favorite is blue, which he explains rarely occurs in nature.) I like the goofy way he walks with his hands in his pockets, the way he tilts his head when he smiles. He鈥檚 so at home with his fingers in the dark soil, and pulls out a tuber for me to see. 鈥淵ou should see this place in the spring,鈥� he says. 鈥淩ight now, everything is dying away鈥︹€�
His image is wrapped in the flowing and gauzy envelope鈥攈alf-concealing him from me鈥攐f 鈥渁 devout, orthodox discourse鈥�: the lover鈥檚 discourse.
*
We become boyfriends. I sketch him one night, naked and asleep, in quick strokes of graphite, filling in the curves and folds of his body with careful detail. (The Other鈥檚 Body) I show him all my favorite things, my bookshelf, my movie collection, and cram whatever I can into his hands, wanting his sacred touch on it. (The Ribbon) I love the way he looks when I pull away from kissing him and open my eyes before he does. He鈥檚 adorable. (鈥淎诲辞谤补产濒别!鈥�)
*
To Love Love: Charlotte is quite insipid; she is the paltry character of a powerful, tormented, flamboyant drama staged by the subject Werther; by a kindly decision of this subject, a colorless object is placed in the center of the stage and there adored, idolized, taken to task, covered with discourse, with prayers (and perhaps, surreptitiously, with invectives); as if she were a huge motionless hen huddled amid her feathers, around which circles a slightly mad cock.
Enough that, in a flash, I should see the other in the guise of an inert object, like a kind of stuffed doll, for me to shift my desire from this annulled object to my desire itself; it is my desire I desire, and the loved being is no more than its tool. I rejoice at the thought of such a great cause, which leaves far behind it the person whom I have made into its pretext (at least this is what I tell myself, happy to raise myself by lowering the other): I sacrifice the image to the Image-repertoire. And if a day comes when I must bring myself to renounce the other, the violent mourning which then grips me is the mourning of the Image-repertoire itself: it was a beloved structure, and I weep for the loss of love, not of him or her. (I want to go back there, like the imprisoned child of Poitiers who wanted to get back to her big cave Malempia.)
*
Love鈥檚 Languor: 鈥渁nd you tell me my other self will you answer me at last I am tired of you I want you I dream of you for you against you answer me your name is a perfume about me your color bursts among the thorns bring back my heart with cool wine make me a coverlet of the morning I suffocate beneath this mask withered shrunken skin nothing exists save desire鈥�
*
For some reason or other, our love encounters grow less frequent and less satisfactory. Once, after a particularly sweaty and bruising bout of fucking (鈥渨hen the Image-repertoire goes to the devil鈥�), he rolls onto his back and reaches for his phone on my nightstand.
鈥淚 have to go.鈥�
鈥淪o soon? You only just got here.鈥�
鈥淚 know, I鈥︹€�
鈥淚 like having sex with you鈥濃€擨 swing my leg over him so I straddle his chest鈥斺€渂ut that鈥檚 not all it is for me. I really鈥� really like you.鈥�
鈥淭hank you.鈥� (He鈥檚 oblivious to his error.)
鈥淲hat do you mean, 鈥榯hank you鈥�? Say 鈥業-really-really-like-you-too.鈥欌€�
鈥泪-谤别补濒濒测-谤别补濒濒测-濒颈办别-测辞耻-迟辞辞.鈥�
*
Why( am I always the one to text good morning first, always the one to suggest going out to see a movie, or going to a restaurant, always the one asking鈥�)?
鈥淎re you just not into me?鈥�
鈥淣o, it鈥檚 nothing like that. I just don鈥檛 have as much time as you do to put into a relationship. I鈥檓 sorry I鈥檓 making you feel that way.鈥�
A tear rips in the envelope of his image, slicing through my heart like a knife. My language is capsized.
(The Tip of the Nose: Could the other be vulgar, whose elegance and originality I had so religiously hymned? Here is a gesture by which is revealed a being of another race. I am flabbergasted.)
鈥淚t鈥檚 all right.鈥�
*
Fade-out: In the text, the fade-out of voices is a good thing; the voices of the narrative come, go, disappear, overlap; we do not know who is speaking; the text speaks, that is all: no more image, nothing but language. But the other is not a text, the other is an image, single and coalescent; if the voice is lost, it is the entire image which vanishes (love is monologic, maniacal; the text is heterologic, perverse). The other鈥檚 fade-out, when it occurs, makes me anxious because it seems without cause and without conclusion. Like a kind of melancholy mirage, the other withdraws into infinity and I wear myself out trying to get there.
(When this garment was at the height of fashion, an American firm advertised the washed-out blue of its jeans by claiming: 鈥淚t fades and fades and fades.鈥� The loved being, in the same way, endlessly withdraws and pales: a feeling of madness, purer than if this madness were violent.)
*
He鈥檚 distraught. His cat鈥檚 arthritis has gotten so bad that he might have to be put down this weekend. He wonders whether he should drop everything and go up-island to see him one last time.
(鈥淚 have an Other-ache鈥�: 鈥淪upposing that we experienced the other as he experiences himself鈥攚hich Schopenhauer calls compassion and which might more accurately be called a union within suffering, a unity of suffering鈥攚e should hate the other when he himself, like Pascal, finds himself hateful.鈥� If the other suffers from hallucinations, if he fears going mad, I should myself hallucinate, myself go mad. Now, whatever the power of love, this does not occur: I am moved, anguished, for it is horrible to see those one loves suffering, but at the same time I remain dry, watertight. My identification is imperfect: I am a Mother (the other causes me concern), but an insufficient Mother; I bestir myself too much, in proportion to the profound reserve in which, actually, I remain. For at the same time that I 鈥渟incerely鈥� identify myself with the other鈥檚 misery, what I read in this misery is that it occurs without me, and that by being miserable by himself, the other abandons me: if he suffers without my being the cause of his suffering, it is because I don鈥檛 count for him: his suffering annuls me insofar as it constitutes him outside of myself.)
I tell him to go, that he鈥檒l regret it if he doesn鈥檛, and he does go; he鈥檚 gone鈥�(The Absent One)鈥擲aturday, Sunday, Monday, the next week鈥�
*
In Praise of Tears
*
No Answer (to my calls): 鈥淭his is what death is, most of all: everything that has been seen, will have been seen for nothing. Mourning over what we have perceived.鈥� In those brief moments when I speak for nothing, it is as if I were dying. For the loved being becomes a leaden figure, a dream creature who does not speak, and silence, in dreams, is death. Or again: the gratifying Mother shows me the Mirror, the Image, and says to me: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 you.鈥� But the silent Mother does not tell me what I am: I am no longer established, I drift painfully, without existence.
*
Ideas of Suicide: For the slightest injury, I want to commit suicide鈥�
*
The World Thunderstruck:
I. 鈥淚 am waiting for a telephone call, and this waiting makes me more anxious than usual. I try to do something, but without much success. I walk back and forth in my room: the various objects鈥攚hose familiarity usually comforts me鈥攖he gray roofs, the noises of the city, everything seems inert to me, cut off, thunderstruck鈥攍ike a waste planet, a Nature uninhabited by man.鈥�
II. 鈥淚 leaf through a book of reproductions of a painter I love; I can do so only distractedly. I admire this work, but the images are frozen, and this bores me.鈥�
III. 鈥淚n a crowded restaurant, with friends, I am suffering (an incomprehensible word for someone who is not in love). This suffering comes to me from the crowd, from the noise, from the decor (kitsch). A lid of disreality falls over me from the lamps, the mirrored ceilings,鈥� etc.
IV. 鈥淚 am alone in a caf茅. It is Sunday, lunchtime. On the other side of the glass, on a poster outside, Coluche grimaces and plays the fool. I鈥檓 cold.鈥�
(The world is full without me, as in Nausea; the world plays at living behind a glass partition; the world is in an aquarium; I see everything close up and yet cut off, made of some other substance; I keep falling outside myself, without dizziness, without blur, into precision, as if I were drugged. 鈥淥h, when this splendid Nature, spread out here before me, appears as frozen as a varnished miniature鈥︹€�)
*
Evening. He鈥檚 back at my doorstep. (Dark Glasses: Should I hide my distress鈥攚hich will be over by then (鈥淗ow are you?鈥�)? Release it aggressively (鈥淭hat wasn鈥檛 at all nice, at least you could have鈥︹€�) or passionately (鈥淒o you know how much worry you caused me?鈥�)? Or let this distress of mine be delicately, discreetly understood, so that it will be discovered without having to strike down the other (鈥淚 was rather concerned鈥︹€�)?) I lean up to him and kiss him. He pulls me into a hug鈥�(鈥淚n the loving calm of your arms鈥�)鈥攁nd kisses me.
鈥淵ou have been very naughty,鈥� I settle on saying sweetly.
He laughs. 鈥淚 have been naughty.鈥�
We climb the stairs together and enter my room. I lie on the bed fully clothed and he joins me. Threading my fingers through his hair, I repeatedly comb the curls as he looks up at me, his eyes glittering in the soft yellow lamplight.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not that I don鈥檛 have feelings for you. I just don鈥檛 think I can give you what you need,鈥� he says, after announcing that we鈥檙e over. 鈥淢aybe I鈥檓 just broken.鈥�
(The 鈥淚t鈥檚 not you, it鈥檚 me鈥� bit. How clich茅! I can鈥檛 believe how much it hurts.)
鈥淵ou鈥檙e not broken.鈥�
He turns his head on his cheek. 鈥淭his is going to sound crazy, but I think I Love You.鈥�
(I should have been the one to say it first!)
鈥淚-love-you-too,鈥� I say weakly.
*
Exiled from the Image-repertoire: Let me take Werther at that fictive moment (in the fiction itself) when he might have renounced suicide. Then the only thing left to him is exile: not to leave Charlotte (he has already done so once, with no result), but to exile himself from her image, or worse still: to cut off that raving energy known as the Image-repertoire. Then begins 鈥渁 kind of long insomnia.鈥� That is the price to be paid: the death of the Image for my own life.
(Amorous passion is a delirium; but such delirium is not alien; everyone speaks of it, it is henceforth tamed. What is enigmatic is the loss of delirium: one returns to鈥� what?)
***
And now we鈥檙e back to the present. I feel like absolute shit. I probably should have written this on paper and burned it, but鈥攐h, what the hell. I hope you don鈥檛 find it too cringeworthy.
(Not a review; just working some stuff out. I haven鈥檛 even finished the book yet. [Update: finished.] To be honest, I don鈥檛 like Barthes all that much.)
A brief and pathetic love episode
We鈥檙e lying together naked, but not yet as lovers. He鈥檚 twenty-two. His body is so long and slender against me, a cream-colored streak across the sheets. His hair is a tousled riot of long chestnut curls, blending into a short scruffy beard and spreading across the pillow, and his eyes are as brown and soft as a spaniel鈥檚. His lips are curved in a soft smile. I鈥檓 lying naked on his hairy chest, my chin resting on top of my hands.
鈥淪o,鈥� I say, 鈥渨hat do you do?鈥�
鈥淚 work on a flower farm.鈥�
鈥淭hat鈥檚 interesting. What did you study in university?鈥�
鈥淚 never went to university.鈥�
鈥淓ver been in a relationship?鈥�
鈥淣ot really.鈥�
鈥淲hy not?鈥�
鈥淚 just don鈥檛 think I have the capacity to worry about someone else.鈥�
鈥淏ut you would have someone to worry about you.鈥�
鈥淵eah, I guess so.鈥�
鈥淎ny siblings?鈥�
鈥淎 sister.鈥�
鈥淥lder or younger?鈥�
鈥淥濒诲别谤.鈥�
鈥淒o you like her?鈥�
鈥淚 like her a lot.鈥�
鈥淎ny hobbies?鈥�
He鈥檚 silent for a moment and then says, smiling, 鈥淔lowers.鈥�
(I look up at that to-die-for face of his and decide that life isn鈥檛 fair. How can someone so gorgeous be so simple? We share no common ground.)
He lifts himself up on one elbow and stares at me. 鈥淚 like you,鈥� he says, giggling.
鈥泪-濒颈办别-测辞耻-迟辞辞.鈥�
鈥淚 think I really like you.鈥�
I鈥檓 taken aback. 鈥淚-think-I-really-like-you-too.鈥�
*
A few weeks later we go out for coffee. He tells me about his father, who died when he was very young. In a car crash. He tells me about his brother, who died a few months ago. Of an overdose. 鈥淚鈥檓 so sorry,鈥� I say pathetically. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e experienced so much loss for someone so young.鈥� He replies, 鈥淚t鈥檚 all right,鈥� and tells me he believes that being exposed to death at a young age has made it easy for him to live in the now, and appreciate the moment.
He drives me to the farm where he sometimes works. I鈥檝e never thought of myself as having a green thumb, or anything else, or as even sentimental about nature, but I鈥檓 fascinated by all that he knows about these flowers. There must be a dozen greenhouses filled with them鈥攇iant chrysanthemums and peonies, Catherine wheels, marigolds and zinnias, button daisies鈥� My favorite are the dahlias, which seem to come in all shades and colors, pinks, corals, lavenders, purples, and white. I ask him what his favorite color is, and he says it鈥檚 salmon, picking out a dahlia with salmon petals. (My favorite is blue, which he explains rarely occurs in nature.) I like the goofy way he walks with his hands in his pockets, the way he tilts his head when he smiles. He鈥檚 so at home with his fingers in the dark soil, and pulls out a tuber for me to see. 鈥淵ou should see this place in the spring,鈥� he says. 鈥淩ight now, everything is dying away鈥︹€�
His image is wrapped in the flowing and gauzy envelope鈥攈alf-concealing him from me鈥攐f 鈥渁 devout, orthodox discourse鈥�: the lover鈥檚 discourse.
*
We become boyfriends. I sketch him one night, naked and asleep, in quick strokes of graphite, filling in the curves and folds of his body with careful detail. (The Other鈥檚 Body) I show him all my favorite things, my bookshelf, my movie collection, and cram whatever I can into his hands, wanting his sacred touch on it. (The Ribbon) I love the way he looks when I pull away from kissing him and open my eyes before he does. He鈥檚 adorable. (鈥淎诲辞谤补产濒别!鈥�)
*
To Love Love: Charlotte is quite insipid; she is the paltry character of a powerful, tormented, flamboyant drama staged by the subject Werther; by a kindly decision of this subject, a colorless object is placed in the center of the stage and there adored, idolized, taken to task, covered with discourse, with prayers (and perhaps, surreptitiously, with invectives); as if she were a huge motionless hen huddled amid her feathers, around which circles a slightly mad cock.
Enough that, in a flash, I should see the other in the guise of an inert object, like a kind of stuffed doll, for me to shift my desire from this annulled object to my desire itself; it is my desire I desire, and the loved being is no more than its tool. I rejoice at the thought of such a great cause, which leaves far behind it the person whom I have made into its pretext (at least this is what I tell myself, happy to raise myself by lowering the other): I sacrifice the image to the Image-repertoire. And if a day comes when I must bring myself to renounce the other, the violent mourning which then grips me is the mourning of the Image-repertoire itself: it was a beloved structure, and I weep for the loss of love, not of him or her. (I want to go back there, like the imprisoned child of Poitiers who wanted to get back to her big cave Malempia.)
*
Love鈥檚 Languor: 鈥渁nd you tell me my other self will you answer me at last I am tired of you I want you I dream of you for you against you answer me your name is a perfume about me your color bursts among the thorns bring back my heart with cool wine make me a coverlet of the morning I suffocate beneath this mask withered shrunken skin nothing exists save desire鈥�
*
For some reason or other, our love encounters grow less frequent and less satisfactory. Once, after a particularly sweaty and bruising bout of fucking (鈥渨hen the Image-repertoire goes to the devil鈥�), he rolls onto his back and reaches for his phone on my nightstand.
鈥淚 have to go.鈥�
鈥淪o soon? You only just got here.鈥�
鈥淚 know, I鈥︹€�
鈥淚 like having sex with you鈥濃€擨 swing my leg over him so I straddle his chest鈥斺€渂ut that鈥檚 not all it is for me. I really鈥� really like you.鈥�
鈥淭hank you.鈥� (He鈥檚 oblivious to his error.)
鈥淲hat do you mean, 鈥榯hank you鈥�? Say 鈥業-really-really-like-you-too.鈥欌€�
鈥泪-谤别补濒濒测-谤别补濒濒测-濒颈办别-测辞耻-迟辞辞.鈥�
*
Why( am I always the one to text good morning first, always the one to suggest going out to see a movie, or going to a restaurant, always the one asking鈥�)?
鈥淎re you just not into me?鈥�
鈥淣o, it鈥檚 nothing like that. I just don鈥檛 have as much time as you do to put into a relationship. I鈥檓 sorry I鈥檓 making you feel that way.鈥�
A tear rips in the envelope of his image, slicing through my heart like a knife. My language is capsized.
(The Tip of the Nose: Could the other be vulgar, whose elegance and originality I had so religiously hymned? Here is a gesture by which is revealed a being of another race. I am flabbergasted.)
鈥淚t鈥檚 all right.鈥�
*
Fade-out: In the text, the fade-out of voices is a good thing; the voices of the narrative come, go, disappear, overlap; we do not know who is speaking; the text speaks, that is all: no more image, nothing but language. But the other is not a text, the other is an image, single and coalescent; if the voice is lost, it is the entire image which vanishes (love is monologic, maniacal; the text is heterologic, perverse). The other鈥檚 fade-out, when it occurs, makes me anxious because it seems without cause and without conclusion. Like a kind of melancholy mirage, the other withdraws into infinity and I wear myself out trying to get there.
(When this garment was at the height of fashion, an American firm advertised the washed-out blue of its jeans by claiming: 鈥淚t fades and fades and fades.鈥� The loved being, in the same way, endlessly withdraws and pales: a feeling of madness, purer than if this madness were violent.)
*
He鈥檚 distraught. His cat鈥檚 arthritis has gotten so bad that he might have to be put down this weekend. He wonders whether he should drop everything and go up-island to see him one last time.
(鈥淚 have an Other-ache鈥�: 鈥淪upposing that we experienced the other as he experiences himself鈥攚hich Schopenhauer calls compassion and which might more accurately be called a union within suffering, a unity of suffering鈥攚e should hate the other when he himself, like Pascal, finds himself hateful.鈥� If the other suffers from hallucinations, if he fears going mad, I should myself hallucinate, myself go mad. Now, whatever the power of love, this does not occur: I am moved, anguished, for it is horrible to see those one loves suffering, but at the same time I remain dry, watertight. My identification is imperfect: I am a Mother (the other causes me concern), but an insufficient Mother; I bestir myself too much, in proportion to the profound reserve in which, actually, I remain. For at the same time that I 鈥渟incerely鈥� identify myself with the other鈥檚 misery, what I read in this misery is that it occurs without me, and that by being miserable by himself, the other abandons me: if he suffers without my being the cause of his suffering, it is because I don鈥檛 count for him: his suffering annuls me insofar as it constitutes him outside of myself.)
I tell him to go, that he鈥檒l regret it if he doesn鈥檛, and he does go; he鈥檚 gone鈥�(The Absent One)鈥擲aturday, Sunday, Monday, the next week鈥�
*
In Praise of Tears
*
No Answer (to my calls): 鈥淭his is what death is, most of all: everything that has been seen, will have been seen for nothing. Mourning over what we have perceived.鈥� In those brief moments when I speak for nothing, it is as if I were dying. For the loved being becomes a leaden figure, a dream creature who does not speak, and silence, in dreams, is death. Or again: the gratifying Mother shows me the Mirror, the Image, and says to me: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 you.鈥� But the silent Mother does not tell me what I am: I am no longer established, I drift painfully, without existence.
*
Ideas of Suicide: For the slightest injury, I want to commit suicide鈥�
*
The World Thunderstruck:
I. 鈥淚 am waiting for a telephone call, and this waiting makes me more anxious than usual. I try to do something, but without much success. I walk back and forth in my room: the various objects鈥攚hose familiarity usually comforts me鈥攖he gray roofs, the noises of the city, everything seems inert to me, cut off, thunderstruck鈥攍ike a waste planet, a Nature uninhabited by man.鈥�
II. 鈥淚 leaf through a book of reproductions of a painter I love; I can do so only distractedly. I admire this work, but the images are frozen, and this bores me.鈥�
III. 鈥淚n a crowded restaurant, with friends, I am suffering (an incomprehensible word for someone who is not in love). This suffering comes to me from the crowd, from the noise, from the decor (kitsch). A lid of disreality falls over me from the lamps, the mirrored ceilings,鈥� etc.
IV. 鈥淚 am alone in a caf茅. It is Sunday, lunchtime. On the other side of the glass, on a poster outside, Coluche grimaces and plays the fool. I鈥檓 cold.鈥�
(The world is full without me, as in Nausea; the world plays at living behind a glass partition; the world is in an aquarium; I see everything close up and yet cut off, made of some other substance; I keep falling outside myself, without dizziness, without blur, into precision, as if I were drugged. 鈥淥h, when this splendid Nature, spread out here before me, appears as frozen as a varnished miniature鈥︹€�)
*
Evening. He鈥檚 back at my doorstep. (Dark Glasses: Should I hide my distress鈥攚hich will be over by then (鈥淗ow are you?鈥�)? Release it aggressively (鈥淭hat wasn鈥檛 at all nice, at least you could have鈥︹€�) or passionately (鈥淒o you know how much worry you caused me?鈥�)? Or let this distress of mine be delicately, discreetly understood, so that it will be discovered without having to strike down the other (鈥淚 was rather concerned鈥︹€�)?) I lean up to him and kiss him. He pulls me into a hug鈥�(鈥淚n the loving calm of your arms鈥�)鈥攁nd kisses me.
鈥淵ou have been very naughty,鈥� I settle on saying sweetly.
He laughs. 鈥淚 have been naughty.鈥�
We climb the stairs together and enter my room. I lie on the bed fully clothed and he joins me. Threading my fingers through his hair, I repeatedly comb the curls as he looks up at me, his eyes glittering in the soft yellow lamplight.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not that I don鈥檛 have feelings for you. I just don鈥檛 think I can give you what you need,鈥� he says, after announcing that we鈥檙e over. 鈥淢aybe I鈥檓 just broken.鈥�
(The 鈥淚t鈥檚 not you, it鈥檚 me鈥� bit. How clich茅! I can鈥檛 believe how much it hurts.)
鈥淵ou鈥檙e not broken.鈥�
He turns his head on his cheek. 鈥淭his is going to sound crazy, but I think I Love You.鈥�
(I should have been the one to say it first!)
鈥淚-love-you-too,鈥� I say weakly.
*
Exiled from the Image-repertoire: Let me take Werther at that fictive moment (in the fiction itself) when he might have renounced suicide. Then the only thing left to him is exile: not to leave Charlotte (he has already done so once, with no result), but to exile himself from her image, or worse still: to cut off that raving energy known as the Image-repertoire. Then begins 鈥渁 kind of long insomnia.鈥� That is the price to be paid: the death of the Image for my own life.
(Amorous passion is a delirium; but such delirium is not alien; everyone speaks of it, it is henceforth tamed. What is enigmatic is the loss of delirium: one returns to鈥� what?)
***
And now we鈥檙e back to the present. I feel like absolute shit. I probably should have written this on paper and burned it, but鈥攐h, what the hell. I hope you don鈥檛 find it too cringeworthy.
July 14, 2016
Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.
- This is a book you either read over a period of time, in spurts, in fragments as it is written, or you binge read in a couple of days, like I have. Each chapter is a definition, a philosophical tease, a shortened version of what could be a lecture or an erudite discussion on life and love; after all, Barthes made his living as an academic.
- This is a book you should read after having read Goethe's . A few notable ones are mentioned in Barthes' A Lover's Discourse: Freud, Proust, and Nietzsche. However, it is a comparative study of Goethe's Werther and his stance on his love, or I should say, his helplessness because of love. (However, read The Selected Writings version of Young Werther and you'll learn, from Goethe himself, that this feeling of despair started before love, that love may have been a trigger, yes, but, according to Goethe, most readers tend to evaluate the book differently).
- This is a book to read only when you're open to discussing love in several abstract and concrete forms. Seriously, how many ways can we talk about love? The theories are endless, so it's no surprise that this becomes an anatomy of lust and love, of the essence and the reality of love; or as Barthes puts it, the disreal and unreal, the cosmos.
To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive.
July 3, 2008
Fuck! Left in random Manhattan apt, then shipped to Haiti in aunt's luggage.
-----
Double fuck! Lost it again on the subway with hundreds of notes.
-----
Ok finished, after 6 months.
This book is a destroying and destroyed queer love poem masquerading half-assedly as theory. It is a poem with a mustache of theory. And it's pretty great for this. He sets it up as aspiring to decode a liminal site of discourse: the lover's discourse "is completely forsaken by the surrounding languages: ignored, disparaged, or derided by them."--and does this in a way that means to be understood for its universality. But then he clearly makes no bones about describing sitting by the phone in coldsweats gnawing (his own) fingers and desolate, waiting for "X" to call him. This is charming and sweet.
More importantly, the book is just incredibly brilliant, and just true. He positions the simple act of recognition, the utterance: "That is so true..." as the qualifier for an amorous image to be constitutive of the lover's "image repertoire"(as he calls it). Most all of his images qualify in this regard; they are immediately recognizable (to me at least). E.g., this illustration from the entry "Monstrous." "The lover's discourse stifles the other, who finds no place for his own language beneath this massive utterance."
The book is divided, seemingly haphazardly (alphabetically), into sections dealing with various utterances, conditions, or dispositions of the amorous image repertoire. Absence, adorable, affirmation, alteration, etc.
But really the book should be called An Unrequited Lover's Discourse, because it has *nothing* to do with the discourses or image repertoire that arise on love fulfilled. *That* discourse comes out the other end of the book as the only remaining liminal site of the "disparaged" lovers discourse. It is as though Barthes' personal loss is so palpable, so in need of codification in theory, of respect, that it elides the possibility of requitement altogether, positioning loss as the totality of love. A *romantic* position to be sure, and one not altogether out of step with *The Sorrows of Young Wether*, the major source text here (among a great many others).
But above all, really, is the simple fact that I could read a thousand pages of Barthes describing a single, unremarkable turd and be satisfied. He has a Nietzschean disposition toward cataclysm and provocation, toward paradox and the bending of incompetent languages around his meaning--he digs impertinently, surgically, for the actual in a way that would seem exclusive with such gentle taste--he is generous and lovable (unvikinglike) in a way that Nietzsche isn't (in the way that Rilke or e e cummings *are*).
Good parts from the first half:
"Meaning (destiny) electrifies my hand; I am about to tear open the other's opaque body, oblige the other (whether there is a response, a withdrawal, or mere acceptance) to enter into the interplay of meaning: I am about *to make the other speak*."
"Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is "I desire you," and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure."
"To speak amorously is to expend without an end in sight, without a *crisis;*..."
"...any ethic of purity requires that we detach the gift from the hand which gives or receives it..."
"To speak of the gift is to place it in an exchange economy (of sacrifice, competition, etc.); which stands opposed to silent expenditure."
"Nature, today, is the city."
"The mechanics of amorous vassalage require a fathomless futility."
-----
Double fuck! Lost it again on the subway with hundreds of notes.
-----
Ok finished, after 6 months.
This book is a destroying and destroyed queer love poem masquerading half-assedly as theory. It is a poem with a mustache of theory. And it's pretty great for this. He sets it up as aspiring to decode a liminal site of discourse: the lover's discourse "is completely forsaken by the surrounding languages: ignored, disparaged, or derided by them."--and does this in a way that means to be understood for its universality. But then he clearly makes no bones about describing sitting by the phone in coldsweats gnawing (his own) fingers and desolate, waiting for "X" to call him. This is charming and sweet.
More importantly, the book is just incredibly brilliant, and just true. He positions the simple act of recognition, the utterance: "That is so true..." as the qualifier for an amorous image to be constitutive of the lover's "image repertoire"(as he calls it). Most all of his images qualify in this regard; they are immediately recognizable (to me at least). E.g., this illustration from the entry "Monstrous." "The lover's discourse stifles the other, who finds no place for his own language beneath this massive utterance."
The book is divided, seemingly haphazardly (alphabetically), into sections dealing with various utterances, conditions, or dispositions of the amorous image repertoire. Absence, adorable, affirmation, alteration, etc.
But really the book should be called An Unrequited Lover's Discourse, because it has *nothing* to do with the discourses or image repertoire that arise on love fulfilled. *That* discourse comes out the other end of the book as the only remaining liminal site of the "disparaged" lovers discourse. It is as though Barthes' personal loss is so palpable, so in need of codification in theory, of respect, that it elides the possibility of requitement altogether, positioning loss as the totality of love. A *romantic* position to be sure, and one not altogether out of step with *The Sorrows of Young Wether*, the major source text here (among a great many others).
But above all, really, is the simple fact that I could read a thousand pages of Barthes describing a single, unremarkable turd and be satisfied. He has a Nietzschean disposition toward cataclysm and provocation, toward paradox and the bending of incompetent languages around his meaning--he digs impertinently, surgically, for the actual in a way that would seem exclusive with such gentle taste--he is generous and lovable (unvikinglike) in a way that Nietzsche isn't (in the way that Rilke or e e cummings *are*).
Good parts from the first half:
"Meaning (destiny) electrifies my hand; I am about to tear open the other's opaque body, oblige the other (whether there is a response, a withdrawal, or mere acceptance) to enter into the interplay of meaning: I am about *to make the other speak*."
"Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is "I desire you," and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure."
"To speak amorously is to expend without an end in sight, without a *crisis;*..."
"...any ethic of purity requires that we detach the gift from the hand which gives or receives it..."
"To speak of the gift is to place it in an exchange economy (of sacrifice, competition, etc.); which stands opposed to silent expenditure."
"Nature, today, is the city."
"The mechanics of amorous vassalage require a fathomless futility."
February 20, 2009
This book is a classic in France, and it's probably Barthe's most popular work. It is absolutely brilliant, and may be well be the best analysis ever made of love, as seen from the beginning to the end of a relationship. It isn't a novel, it's not an essay either, nor a self-help book or a psychology study: it's just, as the title implies, fragments - fragments about the daily life of two people in love, people at various stage of love, and those fragments capture so perfectly, so intimately, so precisely all the different aspects of love, that their totality forms a universal, transcendent, and mesmerizing vision of what love between two human beings can be. It is bittersweet, in the sense that the course of love is always almost the same, yet it's a book filled with happiness, joys, and at the end quite reassuring: what ever heartbreak you've been through, it's finally quite normal. Reading this book won't teach anyone how to love better or more wisely, but it does portray the complexities, small and big, and the mutliple wonders of love, in a very unique and direct way.
December 26, 2024
鄣 爻鬲丕乇賴鈥屰� 丿乇禺卮丕賳 亘乇丕蹖 讴鬲丕亘 賲丨亘賵亘賲 丿乇 鄄郯鄄鄞:
亘乇丕蹖 诏賮鬲賳 丕夭 芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯禄貙 讴鬲丕亘蹖 卮诏賮鬲鈥屫з嗂屫� 讴賴 亘乇丕蹖 賲賳 卮乇賵毓鈥屭┵嗁嗀� 賵 賲賯丿賲賴鈥屰� 禺蹖賱蹖 趩蹖夭賴丕蹖 賲賴賲蹖 丿乇 夭賳丿诏蹖賲 亘賵丿貙 賲毓鈥屫з勜ж迟� 亘丕蹖丿 丕夭 夭亘丕賳 丕爻鬲賮丕丿賴 讴賳賲 賵 趩賯丿乇 讴賴 賴賲蹖卮賴 夭亘丕賳 賳丕讴丕賮蹖 賵 丕賱讴賳鈥屬�.
趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丿乇 趩賳丿 賲丕賴 丕禺蹖乇 蹖丕丿 诏乇賮鬲賲 賵 趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丕賳诏丕乇 丕夭 亘毓丿 禺賵賳丿賳 讴鬲丕亘 芦丨爻乇鬲禄 賲賳 賴賲 丿蹖诏賴 亘賴卮 亘丕賵乇 丿丕乇賲貙 賳丕賯氐 亘賵丿賳 爻丕丨鬲 夭亘丕賳賴. 賴乇 賲賽蹖賱蹖 讴賴 丕夭 匕賴賳 賵 丕丨爻丕爻 亘賴 賯賱賲乇賵 夭亘丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫必迟囏� 亘禺卮蹖卮 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲蹖鈥屫辟�. 賴賲蹖卮賴 賵 丿乇 賱丨馗賴 趩蹖夭蹖 丿乇 賲丕 賴爻鬲 亘蹖丕賳鈥屬嗀簇� 賵 鬲卮賳賴 亘乇丕蹖 丿蹖丿賴 卮丿賳. 賲蹖賱蹖 爻乇讴卮貙 讴賴 丕夭 賯囟丕 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賴賲 丕乇囟丕 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�.
賱噩亘丕夭蹖 讴乇丿賲貙 亘賴 夭亘丕賳 丕賲蹖丿 賵丕賴蹖 丿丕卮鬲賲 賵 亘賴 丿乇讴 丿蹖诏乇蹖. 倬丕讴賵亘丕賳 亘乇夭賲蹖賳貙 丕氐乇丕乇 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 讴賴 賲賳 賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 丿蹖诏乇蹖 乇賵 亘卮賳丕爻賲 賵 亘亘蹖賳賲 丿乇 讴賲丕賱 禺賵丿卮 賵 禺賵丿賲 乇賵 亘蹖丕賳 讴賳賲貙 鬲丕 睾丕蹖鬲 禺賵丿賲. 賳賲蹖鈥屫促囏� 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲丕 讴丕乇蹖 亘乇賳賲蹖丕丿貙 夭亘丕賳 賲孬賱 胤賱爻賲 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕賳爻丕賳鈥屬囏� 乇賵 丿乇亘乇诏乇賮鬲賴貙 乇丕賴 賮乇丕乇蹖 丕夭卮 賳蹖爻鬲 賵 丿乇 毓蹖賳 丨丕賱 鬲賳賴丕 乇賵夭賳賴鈥屰� 丕賲蹖丿 賵 賳噩丕鬲鈥屬呝堎嗁�.
亘丕乇鬲 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 乇賵 亘丕 毓賱賲 亘賴 鬲賲丕賲蹖 丕蹖賳鈥屬囏� 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 倬爻 讴鬲丕亘卮 乇賵 亘丕 丕蹖賳 噩賲賱賴 卮乇賵毓 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�:芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯貙 丕賲乇賵夭賴 爻禺賳蹖 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖鈥屫池� 賵 亘丕 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 趩乇丕責
趩賯丿乇 丕賳丿蹖卮賲賳丿 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж驰屫� 讴賴 丿乇 賲賵乇丿 毓卮賯 丕賳丿蹖卮賴鈥屬堌必槽� 讴乇丿賴 亘丕卮賳責 趩賯丿乇卮賵賳 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 丕蹖賳 讴丕乇 乇賵 丕賳噩丕賲 丿丕丿賳責 趩賴 讴爻蹖 乇賵 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж驰屫� 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖禺 胤賵蹖賱 賮賱爻賮賴 讴賴 賵丕賯毓丕 芦毓丕卮賯禄 亘賵丿賴 亘丕卮賴責
讴丿賵賲 賮蹖賱爻賵賮蹖 禺賵丿卮 賵丕乇丿 诏賵丿 卮丿賴 賵 亘賵丿賳 丿乇 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 乇賵 丕賵賳賯丿乇 丕乇夭卮賲賳丿 丿賵賳爻鬲賴 讴賴 丿乇 賲賵乇丿卮 丨乇賮 亘夭賳賴責鈥� 亘丿賵賳 鬲乇爻 丕夭 丕賵賳 賵 亘丿賵賳 賮丕氐賱賴鈥屭屫臂� 丕賮乇丕胤蹖.
毓丕卮賯 亘賵丿賳 賵 丕丨爻丕爻丕鬲蹖鈥屭臂� 賴賲蹖卮賴 賲賳毓 卮丿賴. 丿乇 鬲賯丕亘賱 毓賯賱 賵 丕丨爻丕爻 丿乇 丿賳蹖丕蹖 賮賱丕爻賮賴 賵 (亘蹖丕蹖丿 氐丕丿賯 亘丕卮蹖賲) 丿賳蹖丕蹖 禺賵丿 賲丕貙 毓賯賱 賴賲蹖卮賴 亘乇賳丿賴 卮丿賴 賵 丕蹖賳 蹖毓賳蹖 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 亘丕乇鬲 丿乇 丕亘鬲丿丕蹖 讴鬲丕亘卮 丕夭卮 丨乇賮 賲蹖鈥屫操嗁� 丿賵 賵噩賴 丿丕乇賴貙 賴賲 賮乇丿蹖 賵 賴賲 丕噩鬲賲丕毓蹖. 毓丕卮賯 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 讴丕賲賱 毓卮賯卮 乇賵 亘蹖丕賳 讴賳賴 賵 毓丕卮賯 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賳賴 丿乇 噩丕賲毓賴貙 賳賴 丿乇 爻蹖丕爻鬲貙 賳賴 丿乇 賮乇賴賳诏 賵 賳賴丕丿 賯丿乇鬲 倬匕蹖乇賮鬲賴 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 毓丕卮賯 賵 爻禺賳卮貙 爻禺賳蹖鈥屫池� 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖.
賵 亘丕乇鬲 亘丕 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 賴乇 噩丕 讴賴 丿乇 丕丿亘蹖丕鬲 亘賴 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴鈥屫й� 亘乇禺賵乇丿賴 亘乇丕卮 丨丕卮蹖賴鈥屬嗁堐屫驰� 讴乇丿賴. 賴乇 賮蹖賱爻賵賮蹖 讴賴 噩乇卅鬲 讴乇丿賴 賵 讴賲蹖 亘賴 毓卮賯 賳夭丿蹖讴 卮丿賴 亘丕乇鬲 倬蹖丿丕卮 讴乇丿賴貙 噩賲賱丕鬲卮 乇賵 禺賵賳丿賴 賵 亘乇 丕賵賳鈥屬囏� 卮乇丨蹖 賳賵卮鬲賴. 賴乇 趩賳丿 賳丕賯氐貙 賴乇趩賳丿 賴賲蹖卮賴 讴賲蹖 丿賵乇 丕夭 丌賳趩賴 丿賯蹖賯丕 丨爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗃屬呚� 丕賲丕 亘丕 鬲賳賴丕 趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丕賵賳 乇賵 禺賵亘 亘賱丿 亘賵丿賴貙 亘丕 讴賱賲丕鬲 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 丿爻鬲丕賵蹖夭 賴乇丕賳爻丕賳蹖賴 丕夭 毓卮賯 丨乇賮 夭丿賴 賵 亘丕 丕賮鬲禺丕乇 賴賲 丨乇賮 夭丿賴. 丕毓丕丿賴鈥屰� 丨蹖孬蹖鬲 讴乇丿賴 丕夭 毓卮賯 賵 讴賱丕賴卮 乇賵 亘乇丕蹖 丕蹖賳 丕丨爻丕爻 卮诏賮鬲鈥屫з嗂屫� 亘乇丿丕卮鬲賴.
丕诏乇 亘禺賵丕賲 趩蹖夭蹖 丕夭 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丿賲 亘乇丿丕乇賲 賴賲蹖賳 蹖讴 噩賲賱賴鈥屫池� :芦亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿卮賵丕乇蹖鈥屬囏й� 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 賲賳貙 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 亘睾囟鈥屬囏ж� 鬲卮賵蹖卮鈥屬囏� 賵 鬲乇丿蹖丿賴丕貙 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丨爻乇鬲鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丿乇 丕蹖賳 乇丕賴 禺賵丕賴賲 禺賵乇丿貙 賲賳 亘蹖鈥屬堎傎佡� 丿乇 丿賱 禺賵丿 亘乇 毓卮賯 亘賴鈥屫官嗁堌з� 丕乇夭卮 丌乇蹖 禺賵丕賴賲 诏賮鬲.禄
亘乇丕蹖 诏賮鬲賳 丕夭 芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯禄貙 讴鬲丕亘蹖 卮诏賮鬲鈥屫з嗂屫� 讴賴 亘乇丕蹖 賲賳 卮乇賵毓鈥屭┵嗁嗀� 賵 賲賯丿賲賴鈥屰� 禺蹖賱蹖 趩蹖夭賴丕蹖 賲賴賲蹖 丿乇 夭賳丿诏蹖賲 亘賵丿貙 賲毓鈥屫з勜ж迟� 亘丕蹖丿 丕夭 夭亘丕賳 丕爻鬲賮丕丿賴 讴賳賲 賵 趩賯丿乇 讴賴 賴賲蹖卮賴 夭亘丕賳 賳丕讴丕賮蹖 賵 丕賱讴賳鈥屬�.
趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丿乇 趩賳丿 賲丕賴 丕禺蹖乇 蹖丕丿 诏乇賮鬲賲 賵 趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丕賳诏丕乇 丕夭 亘毓丿 禺賵賳丿賳 讴鬲丕亘 芦丨爻乇鬲禄 賲賳 賴賲 丿蹖诏賴 亘賴卮 亘丕賵乇 丿丕乇賲貙 賳丕賯氐 亘賵丿賳 爻丕丨鬲 夭亘丕賳賴. 賴乇 賲賽蹖賱蹖 讴賴 丕夭 匕賴賳 賵 丕丨爻丕爻 亘賴 賯賱賲乇賵 夭亘丕賳 賲蹖鈥屫必迟囏� 亘禺卮蹖卮 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲蹖鈥屫辟�. 賴賲蹖卮賴 賵 丿乇 賱丨馗賴 趩蹖夭蹖 丿乇 賲丕 賴爻鬲 亘蹖丕賳鈥屬嗀簇� 賵 鬲卮賳賴 亘乇丕蹖 丿蹖丿賴 卮丿賳. 賲蹖賱蹖 爻乇讴卮貙 讴賴 丕夭 賯囟丕 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賴賲 丕乇囟丕 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�.
賱噩亘丕夭蹖 讴乇丿賲貙 亘賴 夭亘丕賳 丕賲蹖丿 賵丕賴蹖 丿丕卮鬲賲 賵 亘賴 丿乇讴 丿蹖诏乇蹖. 倬丕讴賵亘丕賳 亘乇夭賲蹖賳貙 丕氐乇丕乇 賲蹖鈥屭┴必� 讴賴 賲賳 賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 丿蹖诏乇蹖 乇賵 亘卮賳丕爻賲 賵 亘亘蹖賳賲 丿乇 讴賲丕賱 禺賵丿卮 賵 禺賵丿賲 乇賵 亘蹖丕賳 讴賳賲貙 鬲丕 睾丕蹖鬲 禺賵丿賲. 賳賲蹖鈥屫促囏� 丕夭 丿爻鬲 賲丕 讴丕乇蹖 亘乇賳賲蹖丕丿貙 夭亘丕賳 賲孬賱 胤賱爻賲 夭賳丿诏蹖 丕賳爻丕賳鈥屬囏� 乇賵 丿乇亘乇诏乇賮鬲賴貙 乇丕賴 賮乇丕乇蹖 丕夭卮 賳蹖爻鬲 賵 丿乇 毓蹖賳 丨丕賱 鬲賳賴丕 乇賵夭賳賴鈥屰� 丕賲蹖丿 賵 賳噩丕鬲鈥屬呝堎嗁�.
亘丕乇鬲 爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯 乇賵 亘丕 毓賱賲 亘賴 鬲賲丕賲蹖 丕蹖賳鈥屬囏� 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 倬爻 讴鬲丕亘卮 乇賵 亘丕 丕蹖賳 噩賲賱賴 卮乇賵毓 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�:芦爻禺賳 毓丕卮賯貙 丕賲乇賵夭賴 爻禺賳蹖 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖鈥屫池� 賵 亘丕 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 趩乇丕責
趩賯丿乇 丕賳丿蹖卮賲賳丿 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж驰屫� 讴賴 丿乇 賲賵乇丿 毓卮賯 丕賳丿蹖卮賴鈥屬堌必槽� 讴乇丿賴 亘丕卮賳責 趩賯丿乇卮賵賳 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 丕蹖賳 讴丕乇 乇賵 丕賳噩丕賲 丿丕丿賳責 趩賴 讴爻蹖 乇賵 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж驰屫� 丿乇 鬲丕乇蹖禺 胤賵蹖賱 賮賱爻賮賴 讴賴 賵丕賯毓丕 芦毓丕卮賯禄 亘賵丿賴 亘丕卮賴責
讴丿賵賲 賮蹖賱爻賵賮蹖 禺賵丿卮 賵丕乇丿 诏賵丿 卮丿賴 賵 亘賵丿賳 丿乇 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 乇賵 丕賵賳賯丿乇 丕乇夭卮賲賳丿 丿賵賳爻鬲賴 讴賴 丿乇 賲賵乇丿卮 丨乇賮 亘夭賳賴責鈥� 亘丿賵賳 鬲乇爻 丕夭 丕賵賳 賵 亘丿賵賳 賮丕氐賱賴鈥屭屫臂� 丕賮乇丕胤蹖.
毓丕卮賯 亘賵丿賳 賵 丕丨爻丕爻丕鬲蹖鈥屭臂� 賴賲蹖卮賴 賲賳毓 卮丿賴. 丿乇 鬲賯丕亘賱 毓賯賱 賵 丕丨爻丕爻 丿乇 丿賳蹖丕蹖 賮賱丕爻賮賴 賵 (亘蹖丕蹖丿 氐丕丿賯 亘丕卮蹖賲) 丿賳蹖丕蹖 禺賵丿 賲丕貙 毓賯賱 賴賲蹖卮賴 亘乇賳丿賴 卮丿賴 賵 丕蹖賳 蹖毓賳蹖 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 亘丕乇鬲 丿乇 丕亘鬲丿丕蹖 讴鬲丕亘卮 丕夭卮 丨乇賮 賲蹖鈥屫操嗁� 丿賵 賵噩賴 丿丕乇賴貙 賴賲 賮乇丿蹖 賵 賴賲 丕噩鬲賲丕毓蹖. 毓丕卮賯 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賳賲蹖鈥屫堎嗁� 讴丕賲賱 毓卮賯卮 乇賵 亘蹖丕賳 讴賳賴 賵 毓丕卮賯 賴蹖趩賵賯鬲 賳賴 丿乇 噩丕賲毓賴貙 賳賴 丿乇 爻蹖丕爻鬲貙 賳賴 丿乇 賮乇賴賳诏 賵 賳賴丕丿 賯丿乇鬲 倬匕蹖乇賮鬲賴 賳賲蹖鈥屫促�. 毓丕卮賯 賵 爻禺賳卮貙 爻禺賳蹖鈥屫池� 丕夭 賮乇胤 鬲賳賴丕蹖蹖.
賵 亘丕乇鬲 亘丕 丕蹖賳 丨丕賱 賲蹖鈥屬嗁堐屫迟�. 賴乇 噩丕 讴賴 丿乇 丕丿亘蹖丕鬲 亘賴 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴鈥屫й� 亘乇禺賵乇丿賴 亘乇丕卮 丨丕卮蹖賴鈥屬嗁堐屫驰� 讴乇丿賴. 賴乇 賮蹖賱爻賵賮蹖 讴賴 噩乇卅鬲 讴乇丿賴 賵 讴賲蹖 亘賴 毓卮賯 賳夭丿蹖讴 卮丿賴 亘丕乇鬲 倬蹖丿丕卮 讴乇丿賴貙 噩賲賱丕鬲卮 乇賵 禺賵賳丿賴 賵 亘乇 丕賵賳鈥屬囏� 卮乇丨蹖 賳賵卮鬲賴. 賴乇 趩賳丿 賳丕賯氐貙 賴乇趩賳丿 賴賲蹖卮賴 讴賲蹖 丿賵乇 丕夭 丌賳趩賴 丿賯蹖賯丕 丨爻 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗃屬呚� 丕賲丕 亘丕 鬲賳賴丕 趩蹖夭蹖 讴賴 丕賵賳 乇賵 禺賵亘 亘賱丿 亘賵丿賴貙 亘丕 讴賱賲丕鬲 讴賴 鬲賳賴丕 丿爻鬲丕賵蹖夭 賴乇丕賳爻丕賳蹖賴 丕夭 毓卮賯 丨乇賮 夭丿賴 賵 亘丕 丕賮鬲禺丕乇 賴賲 丨乇賮 夭丿賴. 丕毓丕丿賴鈥屰� 丨蹖孬蹖鬲 讴乇丿賴 丕夭 毓卮賯 賵 讴賱丕賴卮 乇賵 亘乇丕蹖 丕蹖賳 丕丨爻丕爻 卮诏賮鬲鈥屫з嗂屫� 亘乇丿丕卮鬲賴.
丕诏乇 亘禺賵丕賲 趩蹖夭蹖 丕夭 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 亘乇丕蹖 禺賵丿賲 亘乇丿丕乇賲 賴賲蹖賳 蹖讴 噩賲賱賴鈥屫池� :芦亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丿卮賵丕乇蹖鈥屬囏й� 賲丕噩乇丕蹖 賲賳貙 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 亘睾囟鈥屬囏ж� 鬲卮賵蹖卮鈥屬囏� 賵 鬲乇丿蹖丿賴丕貙 亘丕 賵噩賵丿 丨爻乇鬲鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丿乇 丕蹖賳 乇丕賴 禺賵丕賴賲 禺賵乇丿貙 賲賳 亘蹖鈥屬堎傎佡� 丿乇 丿賱 禺賵丿 亘乇 毓卮賯 亘賴鈥屫官嗁堌з� 丕乇夭卮 丌乇蹖 禺賵丕賴賲 诏賮鬲.禄
May 26, 2013
"Le parole non sono mai pazze (tutt'al pi霉 sono perverse): 猫 la sintassi che 猫 pazza."
Questo non 猫 un compendio. C'猫 un po di tutto, pur senza che ci sia tutto.
Talvolta si tende a leggere qualcosa perch茅 si spera nel nostro intimo che possa darci in qualche modo una risposta all' interrogativo impellente di quel momento. E allora ci si appoggia alle parole di qualcun' altro.
Nella maggior parte delle volte nulla 猫 pi霉 sbagliato.
E allora dopotutto a che serve?
Qui vorrei chiamare in causa il grande Gabo che secondo me ha dato la risposta pi霉 pertinente di tutte:
"I libri descrivono momenti. Non devono per forza dare soluzioni."
Bene Barthes ha descritto questi momenti in maniera perfetta in ogni definizione di questo saggio.
Almeno in una voce di questo libro, o in pi霉 di una, sar脿 possibile rintracciare un momento della propria vita.
Ad esempio (Pezzo rintracciabile alla voce Attesa):
"芦Sono innamorato? S矛, poich猫 aspetto.禄 L鈥檃ltro invece non aspetta mai. Talvolta ho voglia di giocare a quello che non aspetta; allora cerco di tenermi occupato, di arrivare in ritardo; ma a questo gioco io perdo sempre: qualunque cosa io faccia, mi ritrovo sempre sfaccendato, esatto, o per meglio dire in anticipo. La fatale identit脿 dell鈥檌nnamorato non 猫 altro che: io sono quello che aspetta"
Non vorrete mica darmi a bere che almeno per una volta nella vita anche voi non siete rimasti in quello stato che descrive benissimo De Gregori?:
"E Cesare
perduto nella pioggia
sta aspettando da sei ore il suo amore ballerina
E rimane li'
a bagnarsi ancora un po'
e il tram di mezzanotte
se ne va"
C'猫 da dire inoltre che l' innamorato descritto da Barthes 猫 quello pi霉 frequente e vale a dire quello non ricambiato, l' infelice. Werther e il romanticismo non a caso vengono presi in pi霉 di una situazione come riferimento.
"Un quadro romantico(il quadro 猫 il naufragio della "Speranza" di Friedrich) raffigura in una luce polare un cumulo di lastre di ghiaccio frantumate; in quello spazio
desolato non c鈥櫭� nessun uomo, nessun oggetto; ma, proprio per questo, per poco che io
sia in preda alla tristezza amorosa, quel vuoto vuole che mi ci proietti; mi vedo come una
figurina, seduto su uno di quei blocchi, abbandonato l脿 per sempre.
鈥淗o freddo, - dice l鈥檌nnamorato - torniamo a casa鈥�, ma non c鈥櫭� nessuna strada
e la nave 猫 sfasciata.
Esiste un freddo speciale dell鈥檌nnamorato: la freddolosit脿 del cucciolo (d鈥檜omo, d鈥檃nimale)che ha bisogno del calore materno."
Ho apprezzato moltissimo la scelta di Barthes di non definire il sesso dell' essere amato definendolo semplicemente "l' altro". A prescindere dal fatto che questo' ultimo fosse omosessuale, mette tutti i tipi d' amore sullo stesso piano, non compiendo discriminazioni di alcun tipo anzi unificando il tutto.
Bisognerebbe davvero che tutti leggessero questo libro a prescindere dal fatto che siano innamorati o meno. Che lo siano o non lo siano mai stati.
Del resto ognuno di noi potrebbe ritrovarsi in qualcosa come questo, ognuno a modo suo, certo (perch茅 ognuno di noi 猫 una tavola di un legno diverso):
鈥淟a resistenza del legno varia a seconda del punto in cui si conficca il chiodo: il legno non 猫 isotropo. neanch鈥檌o lo sono; ho i miei 鈥減unti delicati鈥�. io solo conosco la mappa di questi punti ed 猫 in base ad essa che io guido me stesso, evitando, ricercando questo o quello, conformemente a dei comportamenti esteriormente enigmatici; vorrei che questa mappa di agopuntura morale venisse preventivamente distribuita ai miei nuovi conoscenti (che, del resto, potrebbero utilizzarla anche per farmi soffrire di pi霉).鈥�
Questo non 猫 un compendio. C'猫 un po di tutto, pur senza che ci sia tutto.
Talvolta si tende a leggere qualcosa perch茅 si spera nel nostro intimo che possa darci in qualche modo una risposta all' interrogativo impellente di quel momento. E allora ci si appoggia alle parole di qualcun' altro.
Nella maggior parte delle volte nulla 猫 pi霉 sbagliato.
E allora dopotutto a che serve?
Qui vorrei chiamare in causa il grande Gabo che secondo me ha dato la risposta pi霉 pertinente di tutte:
"I libri descrivono momenti. Non devono per forza dare soluzioni."
Bene Barthes ha descritto questi momenti in maniera perfetta in ogni definizione di questo saggio.
Almeno in una voce di questo libro, o in pi霉 di una, sar脿 possibile rintracciare un momento della propria vita.
Ad esempio (Pezzo rintracciabile alla voce Attesa):
"芦Sono innamorato? S矛, poich猫 aspetto.禄 L鈥檃ltro invece non aspetta mai. Talvolta ho voglia di giocare a quello che non aspetta; allora cerco di tenermi occupato, di arrivare in ritardo; ma a questo gioco io perdo sempre: qualunque cosa io faccia, mi ritrovo sempre sfaccendato, esatto, o per meglio dire in anticipo. La fatale identit脿 dell鈥檌nnamorato non 猫 altro che: io sono quello che aspetta"
Non vorrete mica darmi a bere che almeno per una volta nella vita anche voi non siete rimasti in quello stato che descrive benissimo De Gregori?:
"E Cesare
perduto nella pioggia
sta aspettando da sei ore il suo amore ballerina
E rimane li'
a bagnarsi ancora un po'
e il tram di mezzanotte
se ne va"
C'猫 da dire inoltre che l' innamorato descritto da Barthes 猫 quello pi霉 frequente e vale a dire quello non ricambiato, l' infelice. Werther e il romanticismo non a caso vengono presi in pi霉 di una situazione come riferimento.
"Un quadro romantico(il quadro 猫 il naufragio della "Speranza" di Friedrich) raffigura in una luce polare un cumulo di lastre di ghiaccio frantumate; in quello spazio
desolato non c鈥櫭� nessun uomo, nessun oggetto; ma, proprio per questo, per poco che io
sia in preda alla tristezza amorosa, quel vuoto vuole che mi ci proietti; mi vedo come una
figurina, seduto su uno di quei blocchi, abbandonato l脿 per sempre.
鈥淗o freddo, - dice l鈥檌nnamorato - torniamo a casa鈥�, ma non c鈥櫭� nessuna strada
e la nave 猫 sfasciata.
Esiste un freddo speciale dell鈥檌nnamorato: la freddolosit脿 del cucciolo (d鈥檜omo, d鈥檃nimale)che ha bisogno del calore materno."
Ho apprezzato moltissimo la scelta di Barthes di non definire il sesso dell' essere amato definendolo semplicemente "l' altro". A prescindere dal fatto che questo' ultimo fosse omosessuale, mette tutti i tipi d' amore sullo stesso piano, non compiendo discriminazioni di alcun tipo anzi unificando il tutto.
Bisognerebbe davvero che tutti leggessero questo libro a prescindere dal fatto che siano innamorati o meno. Che lo siano o non lo siano mai stati.
Del resto ognuno di noi potrebbe ritrovarsi in qualcosa come questo, ognuno a modo suo, certo (perch茅 ognuno di noi 猫 una tavola di un legno diverso):
鈥淟a resistenza del legno varia a seconda del punto in cui si conficca il chiodo: il legno non 猫 isotropo. neanch鈥檌o lo sono; ho i miei 鈥減unti delicati鈥�. io solo conosco la mappa di questi punti ed 猫 in base ad essa che io guido me stesso, evitando, ricercando questo o quello, conformemente a dei comportamenti esteriormente enigmatici; vorrei che questa mappa di agopuntura morale venisse preventivamente distribuita ai miei nuovi conoscenti (che, del resto, potrebbero utilizzarla anche per farmi soffrire di pi霉).鈥�
December 7, 2021
Sull鈥檃more la penso come Proust e come gl鈥檌ntellettuali un p貌 snob di cui parla Barthes, che lo considerano una malattia, una specie di raffreddore. Dice: 鈥渄eve fare il suo corso鈥�. Si pu貌 stare anche molto male, ma 猫 molto improbabile che si muoia (salve predisposizioni a complicazioni, rare). Poi, passa.
Questo libro secondo me 猫 un cardine della studio della patologia, che peraltro non definisce come tale (per貌 lo chiama incidente). Dopo averlo letto ogni ammalato si sentir脿 pi霉 tranquillo: i sintomi sono chiari, il decorso anche, le sensazioni pi霉 abnormi e terrificanti rientrano in una casistica conclamata. Durata della prognosi non prevedibile. In ogni caso, se avrete la pazienza di non suicidarvi, passer脿, sia che ci si ritrovi in una coppia vita natural durante, sia che ci si lasci tra gl鈥檌mproperi.
A qualcuno forse dar脿 fastidio, ma a me sentirmi nella norma (una volta tanto) mi ha rassicurato. A tratti la lettura mi ha dato la sensazione di trovarmi davanti al 鈥渕agico鈥�, a qualcuno che ti ha visto e ascoltato in una palla di vetro. E poi 猫 un testo originalissimo anche nella concezione e nella struttura, pieno di stimoli e di sorprese, denso e miracolosamente godibile e coinvolgente.
Utilit脿 pratica per chi 猫 nella fase acuta? Un generico conforto e basta, direi, non di pi霉. Se hai un attacco di starnuti e qualcuno ti dice 鈥渉ai il raffreddore鈥�, le cose non 猫 che migliorano. Pi霉 utile forse nella profilassi. Il protocollo potrebbe essere pi霉 o meno questo: prima di innamoravi chiedetele/gli se ha letto il libro. Se si, apertura immediata di una trattativa. Se no, regalino prodromico, settimana di tempo e se ne riparla. A quel punto, visto che si sa cosa sta per accadere, si vede se 猫 possibile concordare un patto di non aggressione e mutuo soccorso. In quel caso, si pu貌 decidere di lasciarsi andare, sempre muniti di termometro e fazzoletti e dopo aver giurato solennemente che 鈥渓a violenza, quella mai!鈥�. In caso contrario, tentare l鈥檜nica terapia che ha qualche margine di successo e cio猫 quella d鈥檜rto in fase di incubazione per stroncare il male prima che sia tropo tardi (come si fa, nel caso del raffreddore, con l鈥檃spirina 1000 mg e/o i suffamigi di vino bollente, con conseguente sudatona risolutiva).
Certo, si capisce, sono percorsi tutti e due ad alto rischio di insuccesso, ma il male 猫 quello che 猫. E comunque ci si pu貌 consolare col fatto che d脿 i suoi vantaggi: le coccole, il letto caldo, nient鈥檃ltro a cui pensare, qualche brivido, qualche bella allucinazione da accesso febbrile, il piacere di qualche momento di sollievo, le liberatorie esternazioni finali in cui si espellono gli umori superflui prodotti (esattamente, come del caso del raffreddore, appunto - bis).
Non mi piacciono i commenti con citazioni ipertrofiche, ma qui devo fare un鈥檈ccezione:
鈥淟a catastrofe amorosa s鈥檃vvicina forse a ci貌 che, nel campo psicotico, 猫 stata definita una situazione estrema, la quale 猫 una situazione che il soggetto vive conscio del fatto che essa finir脿 col distruggerlo irrimediabilmente; l鈥檌mmagine 猫 ricavata da ci貌 che avvenne a Dachau. C鈥櫭� da chiedersi se non sia indecente paragonare la situazione di un soggetto che sta soffrendo le pene d鈥檃more a quella di un deportato che vive nell鈥檜niverso concentrazionario di Dachau. Pu貌 una fra le pi霉 inconcepibili atrocit脿 della Storia, essere confrontata a un incidente futile, infantile, sofisticato, oscuro, capitato ad un soggetto che vive una vita comoda e che in definitiva 猫 semplicemente vittima del proprio Immaginario?
Tuttavia, le due situazioni hanno in comune questo: esse sono, alla lettera, due situazioni paniche: entrambe sono senza seguito, senza ritorno: io mi sono talmente trasfuso nell鈥檃ltro, che, quando esso mi viene a mancare, non riesco a riprendermi, a recuperarmi: sono perduto per sempre.鈥�
Per fortuna, non 猫 vero: 猫 solo un raffreddore. Passer脿. Basta avere la pazienza di non suicidarsi (bis).
Questo libro secondo me 猫 un cardine della studio della patologia, che peraltro non definisce come tale (per貌 lo chiama incidente). Dopo averlo letto ogni ammalato si sentir脿 pi霉 tranquillo: i sintomi sono chiari, il decorso anche, le sensazioni pi霉 abnormi e terrificanti rientrano in una casistica conclamata. Durata della prognosi non prevedibile. In ogni caso, se avrete la pazienza di non suicidarvi, passer脿, sia che ci si ritrovi in una coppia vita natural durante, sia che ci si lasci tra gl鈥檌mproperi.
A qualcuno forse dar脿 fastidio, ma a me sentirmi nella norma (una volta tanto) mi ha rassicurato. A tratti la lettura mi ha dato la sensazione di trovarmi davanti al 鈥渕agico鈥�, a qualcuno che ti ha visto e ascoltato in una palla di vetro. E poi 猫 un testo originalissimo anche nella concezione e nella struttura, pieno di stimoli e di sorprese, denso e miracolosamente godibile e coinvolgente.
Utilit脿 pratica per chi 猫 nella fase acuta? Un generico conforto e basta, direi, non di pi霉. Se hai un attacco di starnuti e qualcuno ti dice 鈥渉ai il raffreddore鈥�, le cose non 猫 che migliorano. Pi霉 utile forse nella profilassi. Il protocollo potrebbe essere pi霉 o meno questo: prima di innamoravi chiedetele/gli se ha letto il libro. Se si, apertura immediata di una trattativa. Se no, regalino prodromico, settimana di tempo e se ne riparla. A quel punto, visto che si sa cosa sta per accadere, si vede se 猫 possibile concordare un patto di non aggressione e mutuo soccorso. In quel caso, si pu貌 decidere di lasciarsi andare, sempre muniti di termometro e fazzoletti e dopo aver giurato solennemente che 鈥渓a violenza, quella mai!鈥�. In caso contrario, tentare l鈥檜nica terapia che ha qualche margine di successo e cio猫 quella d鈥檜rto in fase di incubazione per stroncare il male prima che sia tropo tardi (come si fa, nel caso del raffreddore, con l鈥檃spirina 1000 mg e/o i suffamigi di vino bollente, con conseguente sudatona risolutiva).
Certo, si capisce, sono percorsi tutti e due ad alto rischio di insuccesso, ma il male 猫 quello che 猫. E comunque ci si pu貌 consolare col fatto che d脿 i suoi vantaggi: le coccole, il letto caldo, nient鈥檃ltro a cui pensare, qualche brivido, qualche bella allucinazione da accesso febbrile, il piacere di qualche momento di sollievo, le liberatorie esternazioni finali in cui si espellono gli umori superflui prodotti (esattamente, come del caso del raffreddore, appunto - bis).
Non mi piacciono i commenti con citazioni ipertrofiche, ma qui devo fare un鈥檈ccezione:
鈥淟a catastrofe amorosa s鈥檃vvicina forse a ci貌 che, nel campo psicotico, 猫 stata definita una situazione estrema, la quale 猫 una situazione che il soggetto vive conscio del fatto che essa finir脿 col distruggerlo irrimediabilmente; l鈥檌mmagine 猫 ricavata da ci貌 che avvenne a Dachau. C鈥櫭� da chiedersi se non sia indecente paragonare la situazione di un soggetto che sta soffrendo le pene d鈥檃more a quella di un deportato che vive nell鈥檜niverso concentrazionario di Dachau. Pu貌 una fra le pi霉 inconcepibili atrocit脿 della Storia, essere confrontata a un incidente futile, infantile, sofisticato, oscuro, capitato ad un soggetto che vive una vita comoda e che in definitiva 猫 semplicemente vittima del proprio Immaginario?
Tuttavia, le due situazioni hanno in comune questo: esse sono, alla lettera, due situazioni paniche: entrambe sono senza seguito, senza ritorno: io mi sono talmente trasfuso nell鈥檃ltro, che, quando esso mi viene a mancare, non riesco a riprendermi, a recuperarmi: sono perduto per sempre.鈥�
Per fortuna, non 猫 vero: 猫 solo un raffreddore. Passer脿. Basta avere la pazienza di non suicidarsi (bis).
September 12, 2012
I first read, and fell in love, with Roland Barthes at uni. Christ, I was still a virgin when I swooned over ALD for the first time. Now at the tail-end of a long relationship, the terrible beauty of Barthes' writing is quite effulgent.
I was reminded again of how great a novel (well, anti-novel...) ALD is when Jeffrey Eugenides paid such tender, bittersweet homage to it in 'The Marriage Plot'.
There is a scene where Madeleine is lying in bed reading The Book, eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon, while it is raining outside ... My God, how romantic is that!
"A moment of affirmation; for a certain time, though a finite one, a deranged interval, something has been successful: I have been fulfilled (all my desires abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction): fulfillment does exist, and I shall keep on making it return: through all the meanderings of my amorous history, I shall persist in wanting to rediscover ..."
The above quote is from a section called 'In the loving comfort of your arms'. Who needs Oprah Winfrey, as bland as processed Big Mac cheese, when you can have the Holy Emmental (elemental?) Barthes to comfort, distract and chafe you simultaneously?
In the canon of greatest literature about love, ALD is up there with 'Song of Songs' and the 'Kama Sutra'.
A book to live and love by.
I was reminded again of how great a novel (well, anti-novel...) ALD is when Jeffrey Eugenides paid such tender, bittersweet homage to it in 'The Marriage Plot'.
There is a scene where Madeleine is lying in bed reading The Book, eating peanut butter from the jar with a spoon, while it is raining outside ... My God, how romantic is that!
"A moment of affirmation; for a certain time, though a finite one, a deranged interval, something has been successful: I have been fulfilled (all my desires abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction): fulfillment does exist, and I shall keep on making it return: through all the meanderings of my amorous history, I shall persist in wanting to rediscover ..."
The above quote is from a section called 'In the loving comfort of your arms'. Who needs Oprah Winfrey, as bland as processed Big Mac cheese, when you can have the Holy Emmental (elemental?) Barthes to comfort, distract and chafe you simultaneously?
In the canon of greatest literature about love, ALD is up there with 'Song of Songs' and the 'Kama Sutra'.
A book to live and love by.
January 24, 2017
賲賳 丕爻蹖乇 丕蹖賳 鬲賳丕賯囟 丕賲: 丕夭 蹖讴 爻賵, 亘丕賵乇 丿丕乇賲 讴賴 丿蹖诏乇蹖 乇丕 亘賴鬲乇 丕夭 賴乇 讴爻蹖 賲蹖卮賳丕爻賲 賵 丿丕賳卮 丕賲 乇丕 倬蹖乇賵夭賲賳丿丕賳賴 亘賴 乇禺 丕卮 賲蹖 讴卮賲 賵 丕夭 爻賵蹖 丿蹖诏乇, 丕睾賱亘 丕夭 丕蹖賳 賵丕賯毓蹖鬲 丌卮讴丕乇丕 噩丕 賲蹖禺賵乇賲 讴賴 丿蹖诏乇蹖 賳賮賵匕 賳丕倬匕蹖乇, 爻乇讴卮 賵 丿爻鬲 賳蹖丕賮鬲賳蹖 爻鬲.
蹖丕丿 卮毓乇蹖 丕夭 賲賵賱丕賳丕 賲蹖 丕賮鬲賲: 讴夭 鬲賳丕賯囟賴丕蹖 丿賱 倬卮鬲賲 卮讴爻鬲... 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж辟� 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж辟� 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж�
毓丕卮賯 鬲乇 亘丕卮蹖 亘賴鬲乇 丿乇讴 賲蹖讴賳蹖責 賳賴, 賴賲賴 蹖 丌賳趩賴 毓卮賯 賵 毓丕卮賯蹖 丕夭 賲賳 賲蹖禺賵丕賴丿 丿乇讴 丕蹖賳 丨讴賲鬲 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿蹖诏乇蹖 賳卮賳丕禺鬲賳蹖 丕爻鬲.
丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 蹖讴 賯氐賴 蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 蹖丕 爻乇诏匕卮鬲 毓卮賯 賳蹖爻鬲 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕蹖蹖爻鬲 丕夭 賲胤丕賱毓丕鬲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 诏丕賳蹖 賲孬賱 (丕夭 乇賳噩 賴丕蹖 賵乇鬲乇 噩賵丕賳/诏賵鬲賴 鈥� 賳蹖趩賴 鈥� 亘丕賱夭丕讴- 丕爻鬲丕賳丿丕丕賱- 讴賱蹖丕鬲 乇賵丕賳讴丕賵蹖 賵 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 丿蹖诏乇) 賵 亘乇禺蹖 賴賲 丕夭 诏賮鬲诏賵賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 亘丕乇鬲 亘丕 丿賵爻鬲丕賳卮 丿丕卮鬲賴 賵 賴賲蹖賳胤賵乇 夭賳丿诏蹖 卮禺氐蹖 丕卮.
蹖丕丿 卮毓乇蹖 丕夭 賲賵賱丕賳丕 賲蹖 丕賮鬲賲: 讴夭 鬲賳丕賯囟賴丕蹖 丿賱 倬卮鬲賲 卮讴爻鬲... 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж辟� 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж辟� 亘蹖鈥屬傌必ж�
毓丕卮賯 鬲乇 亘丕卮蹖 亘賴鬲乇 丿乇讴 賲蹖讴賳蹖責 賳賴, 賴賲賴 蹖 丌賳趩賴 毓卮賯 賵 毓丕卮賯蹖 丕夭 賲賳 賲蹖禺賵丕賴丿 丿乇讴 丕蹖賳 丨讴賲鬲 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿蹖诏乇蹖 賳卮賳丕禺鬲賳蹖 丕爻鬲.
丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 蹖讴 賯氐賴 蹖 毓丕卮賯丕賳賴 蹖丕 爻乇诏匕卮鬲 毓卮賯 賳蹖爻鬲 诏夭蹖丿賴 诏賵蹖賴 賴丕蹖蹖爻鬲 丕夭 賲胤丕賱毓丕鬲 賳賵蹖爻賳丿賴 诏丕賳蹖 賲孬賱 (丕夭 乇賳噩 賴丕蹖 賵乇鬲乇 噩賵丕賳/诏賵鬲賴 鈥� 賳蹖趩賴 鈥� 亘丕賱夭丕讴- 丕爻鬲丕賳丿丕丕賱- 讴賱蹖丕鬲 乇賵丕賳讴丕賵蹖 賵 亘爻蹖丕乇蹖 丿蹖诏乇) 賵 亘乇禺蹖 賴賲 丕夭 诏賮鬲诏賵賴丕蹖蹖 讴賴 亘丕乇鬲 亘丕 丿賵爻鬲丕賳卮 丿丕卮鬲賴 賵 賴賲蹖賳胤賵乇 夭賳丿诏蹖 卮禺氐蹖 丕卮.
February 16, 2024
Cudowny wielog艂os zjawiska metami艂osnego.
August 28, 2012
Questo 猫 un libro speciale.
La malinconia per il lutto d鈥檃more, il momento paradisiaco dei segni sottili e clandestini, la pienezza dell鈥� abbraccio, l鈥檌llusione della Laetitia, il morso della gelosia, le macchinazioni, insomma tutto quello che ti rende oscenamente, meravigliosamente stupido quando sei innamorato ti torna da Goethe, da Sade, da Platone, da Mann, da Freud鈥� e ti sembra che siano le tue parole, quelle che hai detto, quelle che hai taciuto, quelle che non ti sei sentito dire.
E improvvisamente credi che tutti abbiano scritto solo per raccontare di te, come quando in macchina accendi la radio e trasmettono la tua canzone preferita e non te lo vuoi ricordare che 猫 un caso, che la stanno sentendo in mille, perch茅 in quel momento ti sembra di essere il centro del mondo, il destinatario unico di un regalo inatteso, immeritato, incantevole.
La malinconia per il lutto d鈥檃more, il momento paradisiaco dei segni sottili e clandestini, la pienezza dell鈥� abbraccio, l鈥檌llusione della Laetitia, il morso della gelosia, le macchinazioni, insomma tutto quello che ti rende oscenamente, meravigliosamente stupido quando sei innamorato ti torna da Goethe, da Sade, da Platone, da Mann, da Freud鈥� e ti sembra che siano le tue parole, quelle che hai detto, quelle che hai taciuto, quelle che non ti sei sentito dire.
E improvvisamente credi che tutti abbiano scritto solo per raccontare di te, come quando in macchina accendi la radio e trasmettono la tua canzone preferita e non te lo vuoi ricordare che 猫 un caso, che la stanno sentendo in mille, perch茅 in quel momento ti sembra di essere il centro del mondo, il destinatario unico di un regalo inatteso, immeritato, incantevole.
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June 10, 2015I have literally no idea how to begin to comment on this.
It is the most extraordinary work ... like ... ever. It's kind of an exploration of love ... of the affect of love on the mind ... via language. Or rather it seeks to liberate the meaning of love from the meaning of language about love.
Oh I cannot. I just cannot.
This probably makes it sound weird or inaccessible, but it's playful, expressive, fascinating, true.
Probably the most ... human writings on the subject of love I have ever read. Or at least the crazy, desirous, all-consuming side of it.
Sometimes, love is just someone who makes you a cup of a tea.
It is the most extraordinary work ... like ... ever. It's kind of an exploration of love ... of the affect of love on the mind ... via language. Or rather it seeks to liberate the meaning of love from the meaning of language about love.
Oh I cannot. I just cannot.
This probably makes it sound weird or inaccessible, but it's playful, expressive, fascinating, true.
Probably the most ... human writings on the subject of love I have ever read. Or at least the crazy, desirous, all-consuming side of it.
Sometimes, love is just someone who makes you a cup of a tea.
June 15, 2014
L'amore 猫 come le foglie di lattuga
Una delle preoccupazioni maggiori di Barthes nello scrivere questo libro, 猫 la stessa che ha il lettore nello spiegare cosa ha letto ed evitare qualsiasi fraintendimento sul fatto che non sia un banale libro sull鈥檃more.
Barthes riesce a fugare ogni dubbio a partire dal titolo, io (lettrice) ovviamente devo abbassare il tiro e rifugiarmi in metafore.
Sgombrate la mente e immaginate di essere dal fruttivendolo. Comprate una lattuga. Non una di quelle perfette, asettiche, simmetricissime e pulitissime che si trovano facilmente sui banchi del supermercato, ma una di quelle che vengono direttamente dalla campagna. Sporca di terra, irregolare, coi bordi arricciati in maniera diseguale, e con probabili lumachine a dimora tra le foglie pi霉 tenere. Tornate a casa con il vostro ciuffo verde-speranza in braccio, e in vista del pranzo procedete ad un attento lavaggio del vostro piccolo tesoro. 脠 probabile che priviate il cespo delle prime foglie, pi霉 brutte e pi霉 dure, ma dopo incomincerete a 鈥渟vestirlo鈥� e a lavare le foglie ad una ad una. Pur mettendole sotto l鈥檃cqua corrente, vi accorgerete che per mondarle dalla terra e dai micro moscerini, dovrete armarvi di santa pazienza e seguire il percorso delle venature col dito accompagnando l鈥檃cqua negli angoli pi霉 nascosti, nelle insenature a ridosso del bordo, allargare le onde pi霉 strette, sentire al tatto le increspature pi霉 sottili per capire se sono naturali o trattengono ancora qualche briciola di terra. Arrivati alla rosetta centrale, l鈥檃prirete dolcemente ma con fermezza per scovare rimasugli di sporcizia e sfrattare inquilini abusivi. Solo dopo averla guardata per l鈥檈nnesima volta, magari persino in controluce, potrete dire che la lattuga non ha pi霉 segreti per voi, e decidere su quale secondo immolarla a mo鈥� di contorno.
Se con un agile balzo della mente (qua vi voglio disinvolti) trasformate la lattuga nell鈥檈nunciazione amorosa di un soggetto innamorato qualunque, ecco il lavoro che fa Barthes: tolte le foglie grossolane dei luoghi comuni, sfrondata dagli schemi pi霉 prevedibili, passa a una disamina attenta, analitica e impietosa di qualsiasi declinazione possa prendere il discorso amoroso. Dribbla qualsiasi ostacolo dettato dai meccanismi contorti di chiunque sia preso dal vortice della passione, sbugiarda qualsiasi sillogismo, e svela che non c鈥櫭� nulla di contorto, perch茅 tutto si ripete in modo uguale per tutti, anche se 鈥渋l soggetto amoroso鈥� 猫 fermamente convinto dell鈥檜nicit脿 delle proprie sensazioni.
Se Werther avesse avuto modo di leggere il libro di Barthes, di sicuro non sarebbe finito nel modo che sappiamo, ma piuttosto avrebbe scritto pamphlet umoristici burlandosi delle proprie tragedie sentimentali, una sorta di Woody Allen ante litteram. E si sarebbe consolato del fatto di essere l鈥檜nica vittima di cotanto mal d鈥檃more, insieme al resto del genere umano.
Ma del resto, il bello 猫 proprio questo: assumere l鈥檃ria del veterano ogni volta che guardiamo gli altri innamorarsi, e poi cadere a nostra volta innamorati e credere di essere soli nella caduta.
C鈥櫭� un passo di un libro, Nel tempo di mezzo di Fois, che avrebbe potuto agevolmente collocarsi a epigrafe del libro di Barthes:
"Vincenzo cerca le parole. E le parole sono che si tratta di una creatura talmente bella da togliere il respiro, perfetta in tutto, nel sorriso, nei gesti. Michele Angelo lo ascolta senza interrompere, c鈥櫭� qualcosa di meraviglioso nel cognito che riprende forma; e una tenerezza immensa nella voce di quell鈥檜omo, ragazzo, che ripete esattamente quello che tutti prima di lui hanno detto a proposito della donna di cui si stanno innamorando. Come se il proprio specifico sentimento fosse completamente sconosciuto all鈥檌ntera umanit脿. Ma Vincenzo pare non rendersi conto di quanto normale possa essere ci貌 che racconta come straordinario. Se avesse visto la nonna Mercede in chiesa quando sollev貌 lo sguardo per osservare quel ragazzone che era suo nonno Michele Angelo, mentre sistemava il turibolo grande a tre metri dal suolo, avrebbe potuto capire fino a che punto l鈥檕stinazione, la coazione a ripetere dentro la quale siamo imprigionati, conti. E fino a che punto conti quella meravigliosa cecit脿 che ci fa sparire ogni alternativa possibile."
Invece nell鈥檈pigrafe troviamo questo, e forse 猫 ancora meglio.
鈥溍� dunque
Un innamorato
Che parla
E che dice:鈥�
Una delle preoccupazioni maggiori di Barthes nello scrivere questo libro, 猫 la stessa che ha il lettore nello spiegare cosa ha letto ed evitare qualsiasi fraintendimento sul fatto che non sia un banale libro sull鈥檃more.
Barthes riesce a fugare ogni dubbio a partire dal titolo, io (lettrice) ovviamente devo abbassare il tiro e rifugiarmi in metafore.
Sgombrate la mente e immaginate di essere dal fruttivendolo. Comprate una lattuga. Non una di quelle perfette, asettiche, simmetricissime e pulitissime che si trovano facilmente sui banchi del supermercato, ma una di quelle che vengono direttamente dalla campagna. Sporca di terra, irregolare, coi bordi arricciati in maniera diseguale, e con probabili lumachine a dimora tra le foglie pi霉 tenere. Tornate a casa con il vostro ciuffo verde-speranza in braccio, e in vista del pranzo procedete ad un attento lavaggio del vostro piccolo tesoro. 脠 probabile che priviate il cespo delle prime foglie, pi霉 brutte e pi霉 dure, ma dopo incomincerete a 鈥渟vestirlo鈥� e a lavare le foglie ad una ad una. Pur mettendole sotto l鈥檃cqua corrente, vi accorgerete che per mondarle dalla terra e dai micro moscerini, dovrete armarvi di santa pazienza e seguire il percorso delle venature col dito accompagnando l鈥檃cqua negli angoli pi霉 nascosti, nelle insenature a ridosso del bordo, allargare le onde pi霉 strette, sentire al tatto le increspature pi霉 sottili per capire se sono naturali o trattengono ancora qualche briciola di terra. Arrivati alla rosetta centrale, l鈥檃prirete dolcemente ma con fermezza per scovare rimasugli di sporcizia e sfrattare inquilini abusivi. Solo dopo averla guardata per l鈥檈nnesima volta, magari persino in controluce, potrete dire che la lattuga non ha pi霉 segreti per voi, e decidere su quale secondo immolarla a mo鈥� di contorno.
Se con un agile balzo della mente (qua vi voglio disinvolti) trasformate la lattuga nell鈥檈nunciazione amorosa di un soggetto innamorato qualunque, ecco il lavoro che fa Barthes: tolte le foglie grossolane dei luoghi comuni, sfrondata dagli schemi pi霉 prevedibili, passa a una disamina attenta, analitica e impietosa di qualsiasi declinazione possa prendere il discorso amoroso. Dribbla qualsiasi ostacolo dettato dai meccanismi contorti di chiunque sia preso dal vortice della passione, sbugiarda qualsiasi sillogismo, e svela che non c鈥櫭� nulla di contorto, perch茅 tutto si ripete in modo uguale per tutti, anche se 鈥渋l soggetto amoroso鈥� 猫 fermamente convinto dell鈥檜nicit脿 delle proprie sensazioni.
Se Werther avesse avuto modo di leggere il libro di Barthes, di sicuro non sarebbe finito nel modo che sappiamo, ma piuttosto avrebbe scritto pamphlet umoristici burlandosi delle proprie tragedie sentimentali, una sorta di Woody Allen ante litteram. E si sarebbe consolato del fatto di essere l鈥檜nica vittima di cotanto mal d鈥檃more, insieme al resto del genere umano.
Ma del resto, il bello 猫 proprio questo: assumere l鈥檃ria del veterano ogni volta che guardiamo gli altri innamorarsi, e poi cadere a nostra volta innamorati e credere di essere soli nella caduta.
C鈥櫭� un passo di un libro, Nel tempo di mezzo di Fois, che avrebbe potuto agevolmente collocarsi a epigrafe del libro di Barthes:
"Vincenzo cerca le parole. E le parole sono che si tratta di una creatura talmente bella da togliere il respiro, perfetta in tutto, nel sorriso, nei gesti. Michele Angelo lo ascolta senza interrompere, c鈥櫭� qualcosa di meraviglioso nel cognito che riprende forma; e una tenerezza immensa nella voce di quell鈥檜omo, ragazzo, che ripete esattamente quello che tutti prima di lui hanno detto a proposito della donna di cui si stanno innamorando. Come se il proprio specifico sentimento fosse completamente sconosciuto all鈥檌ntera umanit脿. Ma Vincenzo pare non rendersi conto di quanto normale possa essere ci貌 che racconta come straordinario. Se avesse visto la nonna Mercede in chiesa quando sollev貌 lo sguardo per osservare quel ragazzone che era suo nonno Michele Angelo, mentre sistemava il turibolo grande a tre metri dal suolo, avrebbe potuto capire fino a che punto l鈥檕stinazione, la coazione a ripetere dentro la quale siamo imprigionati, conti. E fino a che punto conti quella meravigliosa cecit脿 che ci fa sparire ogni alternativa possibile."
Invece nell鈥檈pigrafe troviamo questo, e forse 猫 ancora meglio.
鈥溍� dunque
Un innamorato
Che parla
E che dice:鈥�
March 5, 2013
Originally posted .
Admittedly, this is the kind of book that I will quickly chuck for its verbosity. I鈥檝e always thought books like this 鈥� those that use hemorrhagic and florid words 鈥� were written more for the purpose of exhibiting the author鈥檚 unparalleled vocabulary more than anything. But for some reason, I hung on to this one. I stayed with it, and it stayed with me. Willingly.
Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is "I desire you," and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand, I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure.
These fragments are the marriage of love and theory 鈥� love theorized. Barthes鈥� brilliance is beyond cavil. I should have picked it up after Jeffrey Eugenides paid tribute to it through Madeleine in , and why I didn鈥檛 now escapes me.
Barthes assigns names to people, places and things which he makes use of throughout the book. 鈥淭he other鈥� or the "amorous subject" is the loved one, the subject of the speaker鈥檚 affections. 鈥淎morous desire鈥� is the feeling of love from speaker to 鈥渢he other.鈥� The speaker is alternately male and female. And while Barthes cites references constantly, it won鈥檛 matter that you haven鈥檛 a clue what it is 鈥� who the hell is Goethe? 鈥� focus on the text, on the fragments, and it will make perfect sense.
How does a love end?-- Then it does end? To tell the truth, no one--except for the others-- ever knows anything about it; a kind of innocence conceals the end of this thing conceived, asserted, lived according to eternity. Whatever the loved being becomes, whether he vanishes or moves into the realm of Friendship, in any case I never see him disappear; the love which is over and done with passes into another world听 like a ship into space, lights no longer winking: the loved being once echoed loudly, now that being is entirely without resonance (the other never disappears when and how we expect). This phenomenon results from a constraint in the lover's discourse: I myself cannot (as an enamored subject) construct my love story to the end: I am its poet (its bard) only for the beginning; the end, like my own death, belongs to others; it is up to them to write the fiction, the external, mythic narrative.
If you鈥檝e read the relatively recent by David Levithan, you will see the similarity in structure. Whether you appreciated or not is immaterial, however, because Barthes鈥� classic masterpiece is a far, far cry from Levithan鈥檚 wordplay. Structurally, they both use fragments, of words or phrases explained, but is more meaty and substantial. Reading it requires utmost concentration--you need to open your mind and your heart in order for it to penetrate. Only then will it enthrall you... captivate you.
December 30, 2007
a lengthy set of scenarios evidencing our inability to speak the full truth of our loves as a result of the drive's inevitable detours through the defiles of the signifier. i have no idea why so many people find it erotic or expressive of their most intimate amorous sentiments. if anything, the book strikes a poignant note insofar as it amasses example after example of how the imaginary (our desires) and the symbolic (our words and concepts) inevitably fail to match one another. it occurs to me after reading various other reviews, that people should spend far less time projecting their fantasies on to authors and titles, and far more time reading books with the same care that went into writing them.
December 28, 2015
丕蹖賳 乇丕爻鬲 賳蹖爻鬲 讴賴 賴乇趩賴 毓丕卮賯鈥屫� 亘丕卮蹖 亘賴鬲乇 丿乇讴 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗃�. 賴賲賴鈥屰� 丌賳趩賴 毓卮賯 賵 毓丕卮賯蹖 丕夭 賲賳 賲蹖鈥屫堌з囏� 賮賯胤 丿乇讴賽 丕蹖賳 丨讴賲鬲 丕爻鬲: 丿蹖诏賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭乇蹖 賳卮賳賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭丕禺鬲賳蹖 丕爻賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭賭鬲貨
賲丕鬲蹖賽 丕賵 倬乇丿賴鈥屰� 丕亘賴丕賲蹖 亘賴 乇賵蹖 蹖讴 乇丕夭 賳蹖爻鬲貙 亘賱 诏賵丕賴蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿乇 丌賳 亘丕夭蹖賽 亘賵丿 賵 賳賲賵丿 賴蹖趩鈥屫й屰� 賳丿丕乇丿. 倬爻 賲賳 丿乇 賲爻乇鬲賽 毓卮賯 賵乇夭蹖丿賳 亘賴 蹖讴 賳丕卮賳丕爻 睾乇賯 賲蹖鈥屫促堎呚� 讴爻蹖 讴賴 鬲丕 丕亘丿 賳丕卮賳丕爻 禺賵丕賴丿 賲丕賳丿. 爻賽蹖乇蹖 毓丕乇賮丕賳賴: 賲賳 丌賳鈥屭嗁� 乇丕 賳賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟� 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟�...
賲丕鬲蹖賽 丕賵 倬乇丿賴鈥屰� 丕亘賴丕賲蹖 亘賴 乇賵蹖 蹖讴 乇丕夭 賳蹖爻鬲貙 亘賱 诏賵丕賴蹖 丕爻鬲 讴賴 丿乇 丌賳 亘丕夭蹖賽 亘賵丿 賵 賳賲賵丿 賴蹖趩鈥屫й屰� 賳丿丕乇丿. 倬爻 賲賳 丿乇 賲爻乇鬲賽 毓卮賯 賵乇夭蹖丿賳 亘賴 蹖讴 賳丕卮賳丕爻 睾乇賯 賲蹖鈥屫促堎呚� 讴爻蹖 讴賴 鬲丕 丕亘丿 賳丕卮賳丕爻 禺賵丕賴丿 賲丕賳丿. 爻賽蹖乇蹖 毓丕乇賮丕賳賴: 賲賳 丌賳鈥屭嗁� 乇丕 賳賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟� 賲蹖鈥屫促嗀ж迟�...
April 12, 2021
螆尾伪位伪 蟿蟻委伪 伪蟽蟿苇蟻喂伪...螡蟿蟻慰蟺萎 渭慰蠀 蟿慰 尉苇蟻蠅. 危蠀谓萎胃蠅蟼 蔚委渭伪喂 魏慰蠀尾伪蟻谓蟿慰蠉.... 伪位位维 渭蔚 魏慰蠉蟻伪蟽蔚. 螒蟺蠈 魏维蟺慰喂伪 蟽蟿喂纬渭萎 魏喂 苇蟺蔚喂蟿伪 维蟻蠂喂蟽伪 谓伪 蟿慰 未喂伪尾维味蠅 未喂伪纬蠋谓喂伪.
螝维谓蔚喂 蠁喂位蠈蟿喂渭蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰蟽蟺维胃蔚喂蔚蟼 慰 螠蟺伪蟻蟿 谓伪 蔚尉畏纬萎蟽蔚喂 蟿慰谓 苇蟻蠅蟿伪 伪位位维 渭维位位慰谓 未蔚谓 蔚委渭伪喂 魏伪位萎 渭伪胃萎蟿蟻喂伪. 违蟺维蟻蠂慰蠀谓 魏维蟺慰喂蔚蟼 蟺慰位蠉 魏伪位苇蟼 蟽蟿喂纬渭苇蟼 尾苇尾伪喂伪, 蠈渭蠅蟼 蠅蟼 蔚魏蔚委. 螉蟽蠅蟼 慰 苇蟻蠅蟿伪蟼 谓伪 蟺蟻苇蟺蔚喂 谓伪 蔚尉畏纬畏胃蔚委 蟺喂慰... 蔚蟻蠅蟿喂魏维!
螝维谓蔚喂 蠁喂位蠈蟿喂渭蔚蟼 蟺蟻慰蟽蟺维胃蔚喂蔚蟼 慰 螠蟺伪蟻蟿 谓伪 蔚尉畏纬萎蟽蔚喂 蟿慰谓 苇蟻蠅蟿伪 伪位位维 渭维位位慰谓 未蔚谓 蔚委渭伪喂 魏伪位萎 渭伪胃萎蟿蟻喂伪. 违蟺维蟻蠂慰蠀谓 魏维蟺慰喂蔚蟼 蟺慰位蠉 魏伪位苇蟼 蟽蟿喂纬渭苇蟼 尾苇尾伪喂伪, 蠈渭蠅蟼 蠅蟼 蔚魏蔚委. 螉蟽蠅蟼 慰 苇蟻蠅蟿伪蟼 谓伪 蟺蟻苇蟺蔚喂 谓伪 蔚尉畏纬畏胃蔚委 蟺喂慰... 蔚蟻蠅蟿喂魏维!
Read
November 10, 2013I had one friend in particular-- I'm sure most of us have-- who, somewhere around his fifth drink, was vulnerable to going into the "why don't girls liiiiiiike me?" bitchfest, and, if interested in someone, "why doesn't (X) liiiiiike me as much as I liiiiiiike her?"
"Well, sir," I would have said had I read this book by then. "Roland might be a good guy for you to talk to. He'll tell you that if you're the sort of person who prevaricates over things and worries about the meanings of their words, you'll have that same conversation with yourself when you're alone."
That friend is more of a romantic than me, and so is Barthes. And being a responsible, emotionally honest, stable, faithful significant other is something I'm really not very good at. I've listened to both of these romantic souls, and incidentally primarily listened to both of them while perched on barstools. Neither of them will make me a better lover.
But just like that same friend has my back for sure, Roland Barthes is someone I like to listen to, even when he's a man old enough to be my father who still compares himself to Werther.
"Well, sir," I would have said had I read this book by then. "Roland might be a good guy for you to talk to. He'll tell you that if you're the sort of person who prevaricates over things and worries about the meanings of their words, you'll have that same conversation with yourself when you're alone."
That friend is more of a romantic than me, and so is Barthes. And being a responsible, emotionally honest, stable, faithful significant other is something I'm really not very good at. I've listened to both of these romantic souls, and incidentally primarily listened to both of them while perched on barstools. Neither of them will make me a better lover.
But just like that same friend has my back for sure, Roland Barthes is someone I like to listen to, even when he's a man old enough to be my father who still compares himself to Werther.
Want to read
August 6, 2016
賳賲丕蹖卮 亘乇 丕爻丕爻 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 丕夭 乇賵賱丕賳 亘丕乇鬲貙 鬲丕 5 卮賴乇蹖賵乇 賴乇 卮亘 爻丕毓鬲 9 丿乇 禺丕賳賴 賵丕乇胤丕賳 (禺丕賳賴 诏賮鬲賲丕賳 卮賴乇 賵 賲毓賲丕乇蹖) 亘賴 乇賵蹖 氐丨賳賴 賲蹖 乇賵丿. 丕蹖賳 丕噩乇丕 鬲乇讴蹖亘蹖 丕夭 賵蹖丿卅賵貙 賴賳乇賴丕蹖 鬲噩爻賲蹖貙 趩蹖丿賲丕賳 氐賵鬲蹖 賵 賳賲丕蹖卮 丕爻鬲. 丌賯丕蹖 乇囟丕 讴蹖丕賳蹖丕賳 賴賲 亘毓賳賵丕賳 乇丕賵蹖 丿乇 丕蹖賳 賳賲丕蹖卮-趩蹖丿賲丕賳 賳賯卮 丌賮乇蹖賳蹖 賲蹖 讴賳賳丿
Want to read
January 22, 2021I used to be a lunatic from the gracious days
I used to feel woebegone and so restless nights
My aching heart would bleed for you to see
Oh, but now
I don't find myself bouncing home
Whistling buttonhole tunes to make me cry
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me
No more I love you's
Changes are shifting
Outside the words
The lover speaks about the monsters
I used to have demons in my room at night
Desire, despair, desire
So many monsters
Oh, but now
I don't find myself bouncing around
Whistling my conscience to make me cry
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me in silence
No more I love you's
Changes are shifting
Outside the words
饾劄 鈾� 鈾�
I used to feel woebegone and so restless nights
My aching heart would bleed for you to see
Oh, but now
I don't find myself bouncing home
Whistling buttonhole tunes to make me cry
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me
No more I love you's
Changes are shifting
Outside the words
The lover speaks about the monsters
I used to have demons in my room at night
Desire, despair, desire
So many monsters
Oh, but now
I don't find myself bouncing around
Whistling my conscience to make me cry
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me
No more I love you's
The language is leaving me in silence
No more I love you's
Changes are shifting
Outside the words
饾劄 鈾� 鈾�
March 11, 2021
讴鬲丕亘蹖 讴賴 亘禺卮 夭蹖丕丿蹖 丕夭 夭蹖亘丕蹖蹖卮 倬卮鬲 讴賱賲丕鬲 爻禺鬲 賵 賳禺乇丕卮蹖丿賴 倬賳賴丕賳賴 賵 鬲賵囟蹖丨鈥屬囏й� 胤賵賱丕賳蹖 賵 丕乇噩丕毓丕鬲 夭蹖丕丿卮 匕賴賳 乇賵 亘蹖卮鈥屫ж测€屫� 卮賱賵睾 賲蹖鈥屭┵嗁�. 亘賴鈥屬嗀肛辟� 賲鬲乇噩賲 賵丕賯毓丕賸 馗賱賲 亘夭乇诏蹖 亘賴 丕蹖賳 讴鬲丕亘 讴乇丿賴. 丕诏乇趩賴 噩丕賴丕蹖蹖 丕夭 賲鬲賳 乇賵賵賳鈥屫辟� 賵 賲蹖卮賴 賱匕鬲 亘乇丿 丕賲丕 亘毓丿 賲蹖鈥屫必驰� 亘賴 氐賮丨賴鈥屬囏� 讴賱賳噩丕乇 乇賮鬲賳 鬲丕 鬲賲丕賲 趩乇賵讴鈥屬囏й屰� 讴賴 丕夭 讴賱賲賴鈥屬囏� 賵 噩賲賱丕鬲 丿乇蹖丕賮鬲 讴乇丿蹖 乇賵 鬲賵 匕賴賳鬲 氐丕賮 讴賳蹖 賵 亘毓丿賽 丿賴 氐賮丨賴 禺爻鬲賴 賲蹖卮蹖. 賵 蹖讴蹖 丕夭 丿賱丕蹖賱蹖 讴賴 賴賲蹖卮賴 乇賵賵賳 亘賵丿賳 賲鬲賳鈥屬囏� 乇賵 亘賴 夭亘賵賳 賲蹖丕乇賲貙 丕蹖賳 丿乇賴賲 賮乇賵乇賮鬲诏蹖鈥屬囏й� 讴鬲丕亘鈥屬囏й� 丌卮賮鬲賴鈥屸€屫池�.
December 10, 2024
Annotating the bleep out of this and Barthes鈥� definition of getting the ick helped me get over my breakup more than anything else haha it鈥檚 a real [language] lover鈥檚 bible!
January 15, 2023
This extensive study of love has disemboweled me in every sense of the word. From Goethe's Werther, Freud's Interpretation of Dreams, Nietzsche's The Gay Science, Plato's Symposium, Proust's In Search of Lost Time to countless conversations with friends together with personal experiences Barthes painstakingly dissects love beyond the philosophical, psychological, and emotional. A Lover's Discourse bridges the resolute interstices between the head and the heart; bothering gestures and impressions precipitating contradictions ** "Perpetual monologues apropos of a loved being, which are neither corrected nor nourished by that being, lead to erroneous notions concerning mutual relations, and make us strangers to each other when we meet again, so that we find things different from what, without realizing it, we imagined." (p159); the inane and the insane; the overthinking and overwhelming; the Image-repertoire.
"Love is neither dialectical nor reformist."
For most of us skeptic and insecure of ourselves in love, Barthes offers a place of solace and reflection in A Lover's Discourse. A heavy book of undeniable intensity, its secret is not so much in completely understanding the text but associating it with your own feelings and experiences of love and almost love. Indeed, love, although unfathomable, is a universal feeling. For the heartbroken, the confused, the frustrated, the mad, ** "The lover's solitude is not a solitude of person (love confides, speaks, tells itself), it is a solitude of system: I am alone in making a system out of it (perhaps because I am ceaselessly flung back on the solipsism of my discourse). A difficult paradox: I can be understood by everyone (love comes from books, its dialect is a common one), but I can be heard (received "prophetically") only by subjects who have exactly and right now the same language I have." (p212). All the na茂vety, immaturity, ambiguity, and yearning: acknowledged and, to an extent, assuringly ordinary. It's all here, makes you feel better, relieved. And the drama in love cannot be separated from itself 鈥� love kills, can kill. Further, there is absolutely so much to take in from this. I unexpectedly gone through this quickly there is a weight on my chest as I look back on past love affairs with a different set of eyes. How much we have talked and wrote and depicted love that at times it seemed already overused, overhyped, yet it still interests, possesses, and arouses. Barthes strikes and alters. Highsmith put it memorably so: "Love was supposed to be a kind of blissful insanity."
"Love is neither dialectical nor reformist."
For most of us skeptic and insecure of ourselves in love, Barthes offers a place of solace and reflection in A Lover's Discourse. A heavy book of undeniable intensity, its secret is not so much in completely understanding the text but associating it with your own feelings and experiences of love and almost love. Indeed, love, although unfathomable, is a universal feeling. For the heartbroken, the confused, the frustrated, the mad, ** "The lover's solitude is not a solitude of person (love confides, speaks, tells itself), it is a solitude of system: I am alone in making a system out of it (perhaps because I am ceaselessly flung back on the solipsism of my discourse). A difficult paradox: I can be understood by everyone (love comes from books, its dialect is a common one), but I can be heard (received "prophetically") only by subjects who have exactly and right now the same language I have." (p212). All the na茂vety, immaturity, ambiguity, and yearning: acknowledged and, to an extent, assuringly ordinary. It's all here, makes you feel better, relieved. And the drama in love cannot be separated from itself 鈥� love kills, can kill. Further, there is absolutely so much to take in from this. I unexpectedly gone through this quickly there is a weight on my chest as I look back on past love affairs with a different set of eyes. How much we have talked and wrote and depicted love that at times it seemed already overused, overhyped, yet it still interests, possesses, and arouses. Barthes strikes and alters. Highsmith put it memorably so: "Love was supposed to be a kind of blissful insanity."
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