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Book Title: L'Abbé C|
The author of the book: Georges Bataille
Format files: PDF
ISBN 13: 9780714527093
The size of the: 895 KB
Edition: Marion Boyars Publishers
Date of issue: January 1st 1983
Read full description of the books L'Abbé C:I couldn't spoil this plot if I tried. I would have to find the plot first. Although I found part of it which I will render as a multiple choice test.
Who left the load under the window while Charles and Eponine were having unspecified sex?
a) The priest.
b) The butcher.
c) Both of the above.
d) None of the above.
Sorry, but, well, I prefer my allegories to be not quite so shitty.
Everybody except an unnamed 'Editor' dies, but not in any cool, shocking or even interesting manner. Like the sex, it is unspecified. People get pale and weak and die. You know, in the French manner.
Bataille, at least in this novel, writes aphoristically. At the beginning of many, many sentences, you can see it coming, some statement representing absolute truth, some kitchen sampler, or at least a quote you can add to the Goodreads vault. The problem is, having read the aphorism, I couldn't sign on. Some examples:
The only way to atone for the sin of writing is to annihilate what is written.
Everything human serves as a trap for man: no matter what we do, our every thought beguiles us and persists, if we have any memory at all, only to become the instantaneous object of our laughter.
Only treachery has the excessive beauty of death.
I know. I don't know what it means either. But see what I mean: it reads like a profound statement but, upon scrutiny, is just so much word salad. Nothing I want to add to my Tony's Quotes anyhow.
Or: I was suffering, I wanted to suffer, and that painful impatience had the ugliness of nudity (the ugliness, and perhaps the enchantment as well). Maybe it loses something in translation.
Back to the load under the window: 'How very odd,' I said, 'in the dark, butchers look like priests.' Can't say I didn't give you a clue for the test question.
There was one passage which made some sense on a theme of Writing:
My absurdity imagined, as I lay somnolent, a clear way to define the problem with which literature is confronted. I pictured its object, perfect happiness, as a car speeding down a highway. I would first pull up alongside the car, on the left, and, speeding like a bullet, try to pass it. It would accelerate and, little by little, start to escape, tearing away from me with all the power its engine could provide. It is at that very moment, when the car is on the verge of getting away, making me realize that I'll never be able to pass it or even follow it, that is the image of the object pursued by the writer: in order for the object to be attained, it is necessary not that it should be seized, but that it should, at the height of the chase, escape from the axis of an impossible tension.
And escape for me it did. Which would be my fault. Except he also writes:
My narrative doesn't quite measure up to what one expects such a book to be. Far from emphasizing that which is its purpose, it somehow conceals it. If I do not get around to saying what is most important, if I insinuate it, if I speak of it -- it is, ultimately, just to leave it further in the dark.
Well, success there.
Read information about the authorFrench essayist, philosophical theorist and novelist, often called the "metaphysician of evil." Bataille was interested in sex, death, degradation, and the power and potential of the obscene. He rejected traditional literature and considered that the ultimate aim of all intellectual, artistic, or religious activity should be the annihilation of the rational individual in a violent, transcendental act of communion. Roland Barthes, Julia Kristeva, and Philippe Sollers have all written enthusiastically about his work.
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