Russell Ford

This essay considers Richard Calder’s Dead trilogy as an important contribution to the argument concerning how pornography’s pernicious effects might be mitigated or disrupted. Paying close attention to the way that Calder uses the rhetoric of fiction to challenge pornographic stereotypes that have achieved hegemonic status, the essay argues that Calder’s trilogy provides an important link between debates about pornography and contemporary philosophical discussions of alterity and community. Finally, it argues that, for Calder, sexuality is implicitly predicated on a reconceptualization of social relations in general – a reconceptualization achieved through the exhaustion of that decadent shadow of the Enlightenment, pornography.

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:diacritics 35.1 (2005) 3-6MuseSearchJournalsThis JournalContents[Access article in PDF]Whispers of the Flesh Essays in Memory of Pierre KlossowskiIan JamesRussell Ford Pierre Klossowski—novelist, essayist, painter, and translator—was one of the most startling, original, and influential figures in twentieth-century French intellectual culture. The older brother of the well-known painter Balthus and a close associate of Georges Bataille, Klossowski's diverse oeuvre includes novels, philosophical essays, and translations, as well as paintings and films. Confined thus far to an undeserved but somehow fitting shadow existence in the margins and notes of theorists who have become mainstays of Anglo-American criticism, Klossowski's own work has increasingly become a focus of critical interest for its decisive contribution to the development of thought and aesthetics in France from the 1950s onward. Born in 1905, the eldest son of Polish émigrés, Klossowski spent his first ten years in Paris in an artistic milieu, heavily influenced by the neoimpressionism of figures such as Bonnard and Derain. His father, Erich Klossowski de Rola, was a painter and art historian, the author of an important monograph on Daumier. His mother, Baladine, was also a painter and trained under Bonnard. While still a teenager Klossowski was introduced to the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, with whom he became close and who in turn introduced him to the novelist André Gide. At eighteen he became Gide's secretary and assisted him with the drafts of his famous novel Les faux-monnayeurs.Not until 1930, however, did Klossowski's own career properly begin, when he translated with Jean-Pierre Jouve a collection of poems by Friedrich Hölderlin. Throughout his life Klossowski was a prolific and influential translator from both German and Latin into French, translating amongst others Nietzsche, Kafka, Heidegger, and Wittgenstein from the German, and Suetonius, Virgil, Augustine, and Tertullian from the Latin. While working for the prominent Parisian psychoanalyst René Laforgue, Klossowski published his first philosophical essay on the Marquis de Sade in 1933 in the Revue française de la psychanalyse. Scandalized by Klossowski's Nietzschean-inflected psychoanalytic interpretation of Sade's writing, Laforgue dismissed Klossowski immediately. Throughout the 1930s Klossowski made a number of key friendships and acquaintances, most importantly with Georges Bataille, but also many others, including Walter Benjamin, André Masson, Jean Wahl, and Maurice Heine. During this period he published several articles and collaborated with Bataille on the review Acéphale and in the avant-garde experiment of the Collège de Sociologie (where, it is said, he would attend meetings dressed in a soutane). During the war years Klossowski trained in a number of Catholic seminaries, a vocation which ultimately failed and led to the writing of his first novel, La vocation suspendue. In the postwar period he married [End Page 3] a war widow, Denise Morin Sinclair, who had been interned in Ravensbrück for her activities in the Resistance and who became the model for Roberte, a key figure in much of Klossowski's fiction and painting. After the war Klossowski began to publish the influential works for which he will chiefly be remembered: literary-philosophical essays on Sade and Nietzsche (among others), as well as six important novels written between 1950 and 1965, La vocation suspendue (1950), the three works, originally published separately, which went on to form the Lois de l'hospitalité trilogy—Roberte ce soir (1954), La révocation de l'Édit de Nantes (1959) and Le souffleur ou le théâtre de société (1960)‚—and, finally, Le Baphomet (1965).Klossowski's seminal 1947 work, Sade mon prochain, was one of the first full-length literary and philosophical studies of Sade's work to be published in France and marked a decisive break from earlier accounts. Whereas earlier treatments of Sade had focused either on biographical detail or on the medical and psychosexual import of his life and writing, Klossowski's reading was concerned with the intertwined figures of law and transgression in Sade's work. After Sade mon prochain French intellectuals and writers...

Of the critical eyes that have focused upon Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, perhaps none is as insightful as Edward Said. Said repeatedly turned to Conrad’s tale as a privileged point of access to the tensions of colonialism. What is most remarkable about Said’s reading is the hesitancy and uncertainty that surrounds it – qualities that mirror Marlow’s troubles about his own story. Said’s reading is concerned with the form of the story, with its position as a cultural artifact, a tribute to the society that it represents before that’s culture’s other, that it nonetheless is placed into intimate contact with. Taking Heart of Darkness as a cultural work, while at the same time paying particular attention to the rhetorical richness of the form of the story itself (the narrative displacement, the precise description of the situation of the Nellie, the description of Marlow, the patterned interruption of his voice, etc.), allows one to glimpse the limiting function of colonial culture. At the same time, as such a limit, it provides a place of encounter for counter-narratives, a place where the difference between a colonial society and its other might be revealed through the structural affinities and dissimilarities between their narratives. Tayeb Salih’s Season of Migration to the North is such a counter-narrative, and employs its structural parallels to Conrad’s novella to refashion the cultural limit between the colonizer and colonized. The center of Salih’s novel is the complicated relation between the narrator and Mustafa Sa’eed, both of whom have returned to Sudan following sojourns in England. While there is an obvious (but shallow) parallel here to Marlow and the narrator of Heart of Darkness, the echo is reinforced by the structural parallels of the narrative. The centrality of the Nile in Salih’s story – a river that serves both as a marker of native identity and as a place of civic, colonial projects – echoes both the Thames and Congo; the relations between the narrator, his past, and Sa’eed and his past, reflect and complicate the relations between Conrad’s narrator, Marlow, Marlow’s memory, and, finally, Kurtz. Most telling of Salih’s deliberate engagement with Conrad is the final, brief scene in which the narrator enters the river that (presumably) took Sa’eed’s life and there confronts the question of the maintenance of native identity in the wake of a migration to the heart of colonial power. Here Salih plays on the same structural ambiguities that Conrad only implicitly invokes, and that Said thematizes in his analysis. Like Conrad, he deliberately chooses not to offer a solution. For to offer a solution would be bind a society with a set limit. What we find in Salih’s novel is both the acceptance of culture as a form of political life, and also the rejection of culture as a justification of oppression. As Said notes, Conrad cannot find a way out of his society; he can only invent Marlow as a protest. Salih echoes this protest, but where Conrad’s tale ends in the sterility of darkness, Salih’s, precisely through the distinction of its rhetorical form from Conrad’s (one that also echoes), concludes with an urgent cry for other voices to take up the task of valorizing the multiplicity of cultures that illuminate the globe.

With the publication of the notes from Bergson’s early courses it has become possible to investigate the tradition of thinking that Bergson understood himself to be working within. A historical investigation of this understanding is valuable for at least two reasons: first, it allows us to appreciate the decisive interventions that Bergson’s thought makes within the post-Kantian tradition. Part of Bergson’s popularity was due to his insistence upon ‘beginning anew’ in thinking. However, while there is certainly much that is new in Bergson’s thought, to emphasize this element of novelty at the price of occluding Bergson’s scholarly work on the history of philosophy is to simultaneously deprive Bergson’s own philosophy of the depth and relevance that it gathers through its resonance with other great thinkers and, inversely, to fail to understand the critical force of Bergson’s intellectual creativity. In addition to being valuable as an elaboration of the stakes in a particular moment of the history of philosophy, a historical investigation of Bergson’s reading of Spinoza affords us the opportunity to work out and think through the motivating questions that animate Bergson’s own thought and which become visible in the way that he takes up other philosophical concepts and systems. Clearly, such a historical investigation is unconcerned with the question of whether or not Bergson “understood” Spinoza, or “got him right.” That Kierkegaard “misunderstood” Hegel is hardly a profound or even philosophically interesting statement. However, it becomes constructive when it drives us to ask, for instance, how it is that Kierkegaard misunderstands Hegel. What concerns motivate Kierkegaard to reject Hegel’s system? What are the points of disagreement and, perhaps most importantly, what new concepts, what new directions of thought, do these points allow Kierkegaard to create? This point can be generalized as follows: the historical investigation of a philosopher’s engagement with the philosophical tradition is productive (i.e. creative rather than reductive) when this engagement is taken up and interpreted as indicative of the new and distinctive concerns that drive the more recent philosopher’s thought – a thought whose distinction at the same time marks the distinctiveness of his or her historical interlocutor. As Deleuze writes of the concept of the subject, “it is never very interesting to criticize a concept: it is better to build the new functions and discover the new fields that make it useless or inadequate.” By extension, an “interesting” reading of Bergson’s interpretation of Spinoza ought not to emphasize the points of agreement and disagreement between them – as though it could be taken for granted that they have the same or equivalent concerns – but would inquire into the direction of Bergson’s thought that makes Spinoza simultaneously one of his closest philosophical allies and, at the same time, a thinker from whom Bergson repeatedly distances himself and critiques in order to elucidate his own thinking.