Posted by Farhang Erfani on 30th May 2008
Richard Crary has been reading Blanchot’s The Space of Literature and is sharing his thoughts.
Link to his blog: The Existence Machine
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Posted by Farhang Erfani on 5th May 2007
An ubu edition:
The Last Man (1957)
Maurice Blanchot
73 Pages
We can dream about the last writer, with whom would disappear, without anyone noticing it, the little mystery of writing. A dense, dream-like exploration of the extreme limits of this mystery, written some ten years prior to the Death of the Author, (though unpublished in English until thirty years later) Maurice Blanchot's The Last Man (Le Dernier Homme, 1957) could be considered a narrative follow-up to The Space of Literature (L'Espace littéraire, 1955) or a fictional companion to the critical essays composing The Book to Come (Le Livre à venir, 1959). One can imagine an infinite conversation between these works: drifting wearily across abyssal alterities—the echo, in advance, of what has not been said and will never be said. But this sumptuous récit alone demands the reader's full attention—marvelously, Blanchot writes what cannot be written without losing it as un-writable by writing it (Hans-Yost Frey, YFS, 1998). Narrating at the threshold of this impossible writing, The Last Man weaves a blurring of several prosopopetic characters towards a radical revision of the subject and the text. The prose itself never crystallizes into an unambiguous statement—Blanchot's trangressive philosophy peculiar in the tantalizingly pleasurable suspension of the never-fulfilled promise of understanding. Reading happens in this continual absence of comprehension: instead, dense knots of delightfully paradoxical propositions and stupefying catachreses drive the reader on in the unconditional acceptance of the text that pierces, like a look that is too direct, the indeterminate prose, and makes all relations, and especially our relationship to time, absolutely precarious.
Link
Via Wood's Lot
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Posted by Farhang Erfani on 7th August 2006
From Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews, Gerald Bruns' review of After Blanchot: Literature, Criticism, Philosophy (Monash Romance), ed. Leslie Hill et. al.
From the book's publisher:
What does it mean to come after Blanchot? First, it is to recognize that it is no longer possible to believe in an essentialist determination of literary discourse or of aesthetic experience. Second, there is the question of history. What is Blanchot's legacy to us, his readers? Any name, however irreplaceably singular, is always already preceded, limited, challenged even, by the abiding anonymity of the person, animal, or thing it claims to name. Blanchot "after Blanchot," then, can best be understood in the sense of that which is "according to Blanchot"—and that is nothing other than the infinite process of reading and rereading Blanchot: without end. Here, a third meaning to the phrase "after Blanchot" comes into view. For if we come after Blanchot, it is surely because Blanchot is still before us, still in front, still in the future, still to come. All of the contributors to this volume respond to this problematic.
A brief passage from the review:
Blanchot cannot be identified except as l'écrivain, which is to say the modernist writer whose texts cannot be captured by any genre description or disciplinary framework. He was after all never a writer of narratives in any Aristotelian sense, nor even of novels composed according to recognizable conventions or unitary forms. Even the word "fiction" as applied to certain of his writings came to be enclosed within quotation marks at a very early stage. He was never a philosopher or thinker in the manner of his older or younger contemporaries (whom he nevertheless influenced) — Sartre, Levinas, Foucault, Deleuze, Derrida. It is quite possible that he never formulated an idea of his own, since much of what he wrote was a reworking of his reading, although it often happened that an idea (e. g., Levinas's Autrui, Bataille's l'expérience) would become something new or strange when he appropriated it. So he is called a "critic" for lack of a better term. If Blanchot came to belong anywhere it is to the tradition (although "tradition" is hardly the word) of fragmentary writing that began with the Jena Romantics and which includes such figures as Gertrude Stein, Wittgenstein, and Paul Celan.
After Blanchot: Literature, Criticism, Philosophy is a volume of essays that attempt in one way or another to address Blanchot's intractable singularity.
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