New York: Hill and Wang. Critique, — Lavers and C. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. October, 8: 3— Paris: Seuil. Pilcher Keuneman. Minneapolis: Uni- versity of Minnesota Press. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Howard and M. Berkeley: Uni- versity of California Press. Lack eds The Tel Quel Reader. New York: Routledge, — Bensmaia, Reda The Barthes Effect.
Paris: Minuit. Calvet, Louis-Jean Roland Barthes. Un regard politique sur le signe. Paris: Payot. Working Papers in Cultural Studies, 6: 49— Le Hir and D. Birmingham, AL: Summa Publications. Chow, Rey Writing Diaspora. Tactics of Intervention in Contemporary Cultural Studies.
Comment, Bernard Roland Barthes, vers le neutre. Paris: Christian Bourgois. Colloque de Cerisy. Paris: UGE. Coquio, C. Culler, Jonathan Roland Barthes. New York: Oxford University Press. De Beauvoir, Simone La Force des choses. Paris: Gallimard, Folio. Volume 1: The Rising Sign, — Communications, 19— Fages, J.
Queens Quarterly, 95 4 — Forbes, J. Grossberg, L. New York and London: Routledge. In Stuart Hall, Hobson, A. Lowe and P. Hall ed. Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Grossberg, C. Neslon and P. Treichler eds Cultural Studies. New York and London: Routledge, — Lecture de Barthes. Paris: Fayard. Jackson, Leonard The Poverty of Structuralism. Paris: A. Knight, Diana ed. New York: G. Landry, D. Lavers, Annette Roland Barthes. Structuralism and After.
Miller, D. Moriarity, Michael Roland Barthes. Cambridge: Polity Press. Quite the contrary. True, it may seem touching, and even flattering, that I, a mere reader, should participate, thanks to such confidences, in the daily life of a race selected by genius. I would no doubt feel that a world was blissfully fraternal, in which newspapers told me that a certain great writer wears blue pyjamas, and a certain young novelist has a liking for 'pretty girls, reblochon cheese and lavender-honey'.
This does not alter the fact that the balance of the operation is that the writer becomes still more charismatic, leaves this earth a little more for a celestial habitat where his pyjamas and his cheeses in no way prevent him from resuming the use of his noble demiurgic speech.
To endow the writer publicly with a good fleshly body, to reveal that he likes dry white wine and underdone steak, is to make even more miraculous for me, and of a more divine essence, the products of his art. Far from the details of his daily life bringing nearer to me the nature of his inspiration and making it clearer, it is the whole mythical singularity of his condition which the writer emphasizes by such confidences.
For I cannot but ascribe to some superhumanity the existence of beings vast enough to wear blue pyjamas at the very moment when they manifest themselves as universal conscience, or else make a profession of liking reblochon with that same voice with which they announce their forthcoming Phenomenology of the Ego.
By renouncing these privileges, kings make them recede into the heaven of dream: their very temporary sacrifice determines and eternalizes the signs of daily bliss. Ever since the Coronation, the French had been pining for fresh news about royal activities, of which they are extremely fond; the What is more curious is that this mythical character of our kings is setting out to sea of a hundred or so royals on a Greek yacht, the nowadays secularized, though not in the least exorcized, by Agamemnon, entertained them greatly.
The Coronation of resorting to scientism of a sort. Kings are defined by the purity of Elizabeth was a theme which appealed to the emotions and their race Blue Blood like puppies, and the ship, the privileged sentimentalities; the 'Blue Blood' Cruise is a humorous episode: locus of any 'closure', is a kind of modern Ark where the main kings played at being men, as in a comedy by de Flers and variations of the monarchic species are preserved.
To such an Caillavet; there followed a thousand situations, droll because of extent that the chances of certain pairings are openly computed.
Enclosed in their floating stud-farm, the thoroughbreds are Such a feeling of amusement carries a heavy pathological burden: sheltered from all mongrel marriages, all is prepared for them if one is amused by a contradiction, it is because one supposes its annually, perhaps?
As terms to be very far apart. In other words, kings have a small in number as pug-dogs on this earth, the ship immobilizes superhuman essence, and when they temporarily borrow certain and gathers them, and constitutes a temporary 'reservation' where forms of democratic life, it can only be through an incarnation an ethnographic curiosity as well protected as a Sioux territory will which goes against nature, made possible through condescension be kept and, with luck, increased.
To flaunt the fact that kings are capable of prosaic actions is to recognize that this status is no more natural to them than The two century-old themes are merged, that of the God-King and angelism to common mortals, it is to acknowledge that the king is that of the King-Object.
But this mythological heaven is not as still king by divine right. The most ethereal mystifications, the 'amusing details' of the 'Blue Blood' Cruise, all this anecdotal Thus the neutral gestures of daily life have taken, on the blah with which the national press made its readers drunk is not Agamemnon, an exorbitantly bold character, like those creative proffered without damage: confident in their restored divinity, the fantasies in which Nature violates its own kingdoms: kings shave princes democratically engage in politics.
The Comte de Paris themselves! This touch was reported by our national press as an act leaves the Agamemnon and comes to Paris to 'keep close watch' on of incredible singularity, as if in doing so kings consented to risk the fortunes of the European Defence Community, and the young the whole of their royal status, making thereby, incidentally, a Juan of Spain is sent to the rescue of Spanish Fascism.
King Paul was wearing an open-neck shirt and short sleeves, Queen Frederika a print dress, that is to say one no longer unique but whose pattern can also be seen on the bodies of mere mortals. Formerly, kings dressed up as shepherds; nowadays, to wear for a fortnight clothes from a cheap chain-store is for them the sign of dressing up.
Yet another sign of democracy: to get up at six in the morning. Culture is allowed on condition that it periodically proclaims the vanity of its ends and the limits of its power see also on this subject the ideas of Mr Critics of books or drama often use two rather singular Graham Greene on psychologists and psychiatrists ; ideally, arguments. The first consists in suddenly deciding that the true culture should be nothing but a sweet rhetorical effusion, an art of subject of criticism is ineffable, and criticism, as a consequence, using words to bear witness to a transient moistening of the soul.
The other, which also reappears periodically, consists Yet this old romantic couple, the heart and the head, has no reality in confessing that one is too stupid, too unenlightened to except in an imagery of vaguely Gnostic origin, in these opiate-like understand a book reputedly philosophical. A play by Henri philosophies which have always, in the end, constituted the Lefebvre on Kierkegaard has thus provoked in our best critics and mainstay of strong regimes, and in which one gets rid of I am not speaking about those who openly profess stupidity a intellectuals by telling them to run along and get on with the pretended fear of imbecility the aim of which was obviously to emotions and the ineffable.
In fact, any reservation about culture discredit Lefebvre by relegating him to the ridicule of pure means a terrorist position. To be a critic by profession and to intellectualism. It is certainly not out of modesty: no blindness or dumbness to a universal rule of perception, and to one is more at ease than one critic confessing that he understands reject from the world Marxism and existentialism: 'I don't nothing about existentialism; no one more ironic and therefore understand, therefore you are idiots.
To understand, to enlighten, that is your profession, isn't All this means in fact that one believes oneself to have such it? You can of course judge philosophy according to common sureness of intelligence that acknowledging an inability to sense; the trouble is that while 'common sense' and 'feeling' understand calls in question the clarity of the author and not that of understand nothing about philosophy, philosophy, on the other one's own mind.
One mimics silliness in order to make the public hand, understands them perfectly. You don't explain philosophers, protest in one's favour, and thus carry it along advantageously from but they explain you. You don't want to understand the play by complicity in helplessness to complicity in intelligence.
Soap-powders and Detergents But even in the category of powders, one must in addition oppose against advertisements based on psychology those based on psycho-analysis I use this word without reference to any specific The first World Detergent Congress Paris, September had school. These products have been is whiter than the other. Advertisements for Omo also indicate the in the last few years the object of such massive advertising that effect of the product and in superlative fashion, incidentally , but they now belong to a region of French daily life which the various they chiefly reveal its mode of action; in doing so, they involve the types of psycho-analysis would do well to pay some attention to if consumer in a kind of direct experience of the substance, make him they wish to keep up to date.
One could then usefully contrast the the accomplice of a liberation rather than the mere beneficiary of a psycho-analysis of purifying fluids chlorinated, for example with result; matter here is endowed with value-bearing states. The relations between the evil and the cure, between dirt and a given Omo uses two of these, which are rather novel in the category of product, are very different in each case. The implicit favourable to those obscure tendencies to enfold and caress which legend of this type of product rests on the idea of a violent, are found in every human body.
As for foam, it is well known that abrasive modification of matter: the connotations are of a chemical it signifies luxury. To begin with, it appears to lack any usefulness; or mutilating type: the product 'kills' the dirt. Powders, on the then, its abundant, easy, almost infinite proliferation allows one to contrary, are separating agents: their ideal role is to liberate the suppose there is in the substance from which it issues a vigorous object from its circumstantial imperfection: dirt is 'forced out' and germ, a healthy and powerful essence, a great wealth of active no longer killed; in the Omo imagery, dirt is a diminutive enemy, elements in a small original volume.
Finally, it gratifies in the stunted and black, which takes to its heels from the fine consumer a tendency to imagine matter as something airy, with immaculate linen at the sole threat of the judgment of Omo. Foam can even be the through the texture of the object, their function is keeping public sign of a certain spirituality, inasmuch as the spirit has the order not making war. This distinction has ethnographic reputation of being able to make something out of nothing, a large correlatives: the chemical fluid is an extension of the surface of effects out of a small volume of causes creams have a washerwoman's movements when she beats the clothes, while very different 'psychoanalytical' meaning, of a soothing kind: they suppress wrinkles, pain, smarting, etc.
A euphoria, incidentally, which must not make us forget that there is one plane on which Persil and Omo are one and the same: the plane of the Anglo-Dutch trust Unilever.
At bottom, this amounts to establishing an identity between the nature of the poor man and that of the proletarian. Chaplin has always seen the proletarian under the guise of the poor man: hence the broadly human force of his representations but also their political ambiguity.
This is quite evident in this admirable film, Modern Times, in which he repeatedly approaches the proletarian theme, but never endorses it politically. What he presents us with is the proletarian still blind and mystified, defined by the immediate character of his needs, and his total alienation at the hands of his masters the employers and the police.
For Chaplin, the proletarian is still the man who is hungry; the representations of hunger are always epic with him: excessive size of the sandwiches, rivers of milk, fruit which one tosses aside hardly touched.
Ironically, the food-dispensing machine which is part of the employers' world delivers only fragmented and obviously flavourless nutriment. Ensnared in his starvation, Chaplin-Man is always just below political awareness. A strike is a catastrophe for him because it threatens a man truly blinded by his hunger; this man achieves an awareness of the working-class condition only when the poor man and the proletarian coincide under the gaze and the blows of the police.
Historically, Man according to Chaplin roughly corresponds to the worker of the French Restoration, rebelling against the machines, at a loss before strikes, fascinated by the problem of bread-winning in the literal sense of the word , but as yet unable to reach a knowledge of political causes and an insistence on a collective strategy.
But it is precisely because Chaplin portrays a kind of primitive proletarian, still outside Revolution, that the representative force of the latter is immense. Brecht alone, perhaps, has glimpsed the Operation Margarine necessity, for socialist art, of always taking Man on the eve of Revolution, that is to say, alone, still blind, on the point of having his eyes opened to the revolutionary light by the 'natural' excess of his wretchedness. Other works, in showing the worker already To instil into the Established Order the complacent portrayal of its engaged in a conscious fight, subsumed under the Cause and the drawbacks has nowadays become a paradoxical but Party, give an account of a political reality which is necessary, but incontrovertible means of exalting it.
Here is the pattern of this lacks aesthetic force. To see someone who does not see is the save it in spite of, or rather by the heavy curse of its blemishes. There is no lack of them. Punch and Judy show, it is the children who announce to Punch what he pretends not to see.
For instance, Charlie Chaplin is in a Take the Army; show without disguise its chiefs as martinets, its cell, pampered by the warders, and lives there according to the discipline as narrow-minded and unfair, and into this stupid ideal of the American petit-bourgeois: with legs crossed, he reads tyranny immerse an average human being, fallible but likeable, the the paper under a portrait of Lincoln; but his delightfully self- archetype of the spectator.
The slightest ensnarements are one cannot but be faithful although beaten From here to eternity. All told, it is perhaps because of this that Take the Army again: lay down as a basic principle the scientific Chaplin-Man triumphs over everything: because he escapes from fanaticism of its engineers, and their blindness; show all that is everything, eschews any kind of sleeping partner, and never destroyed by such a pitiless rigour: human beings, couples.
And invests in man anything but man himself. His anarchy, politically then bring out the flag, save the army in the name of progress, open to discussion, perhaps represents the most efficient form of hitch the greatness of the former to the triumph of the latter Les revolution in the realm of art. Cyclones, by Jules Roy. Finally, the Church: speak with burning zeal about its self- righteousness, the narrow-mindedness of its bigots, indicate that all this can be murderous, hide none of the weaknesses of the faith.
And then, in extremis, hint that the letter of the law, however unattractive, is a way to salvation for its very victims, and so justify moral austerity by the saintliness of those whom it crushes The Living Room, by Graham Greene. One in scruples, in revolt, in fights and in solitude. Order and its values, according to this way of thinking, is an illness which is common, natural, forgivable; one must not collide with it head-on, but rather exorcize it like a possession: the patient is made to give a representation of his illness, he is made familiar with the very appearance of his revolt, and this revolt disappears all the more surely since, once at a distance and the object of a gaze, the Established Order is no longer anything but a Manichaean compound and therefore inevitable, one which wins on both counts, and is therefore beneficial.
The immanent evil of enslavement is redeemed by the transcendent good of religion, fatherland, the Church, etc. A little 'confessed' evil saves one from acknowledging a lot of hidden evil. One can trace in advertising a narrative pattern which clearly shows the working of this new vaccine. It is found in the publicity for Astra margarine. The episode always begins with a cry of indignation against margarine: 'A mousse? Made with margarine? Your uncle will be furious! The moral at the end is well known: 'Here you are, rid of a prejudice which cost you dearly!
The Army, an absolute value? It is unthinkable: look at its vexations, its strictness, the always possible blindness of its chiefs. The Church, infallible? Alas, it is very doubtful: look at its bigots, its powerless priests, its murderous conformism. And then common sense makes its reckoning: what is this trifling dross of Order, compared to its advantages? It is well worth the price of an immunization. What does it matter, after all, if margarine is just fat, when it goes further than butter, and costs less?
What does it matter, after all, if Order is a little brutal or a little blind, when it allows us to live cheaply? But justice? Periodically, some trial, and not Dominici, or the Triumph of Literature necessarily fictitious like the one in Camus's The Outsider, comes to remind you that the Law is always prepared to lend you a spare brain in order to condemn you without remorse, and that, like Corneille, it depicts you as you should be, and not as you are.
Since material possible thanks to an intermediate myth which is always used evidence was uncertain or contradictory, one had to resort to abundantly by all official institutions, whether they are the Assizes evidence of a mental kind; and where could one find it, except in or the periodicals of literary sects: the transparence and the very mentality of the accusers?
The motives and sequence of universality of language. The Presiding judge of the Assizes, who actions were therefore reconstituted off-hand but without a shadow reads Le Figaro, has obviously no scruples in exchanging words of a doubt; in the manner of those archaeologists who go and with the old 'uneducated' goatherd.
Do they not have in common gather old stones all over the excavation site and with their cement, the same language, and the clearest there is, French? O wonderful modern as it is, erect a delicate wayside altar of Sesostris, or else, self-assurance of classical education, in which shepherds, without who reconstitute a religion which has been dead for two thousand embarrassment, converse with judges! But here again, behind the years by drawing on the ancient fund of universal wisdom, which prestigious and grotesque morality of Latin translations and is in fact nothing but their own brand of wisdom, elaborated in the essays in French, what is at stake is the head of a man.
And yet the disparity of both languages, their impenetrability to The same applies to the 'psychology' of old Dominici. Is it really each other, have been stressed by a few journalists, and Giono has his?
No one knows. But one can be sure that it is indeed that of the given numerous examples of this in his accounts of the trial. Do these remarks show that there is no need to imagine mysterious barriers, two mentalities, that of the old peasant from the Alps and that of Kafka-like misunderstandings.
No: syntax, vocabulary, most of the the judiciary, function in the same way? Nothing is less likely. Listen to the Public Prosecutor: language which is common sense, that of Dominici being only one 'Sir Jack Drummond, I told you, was afraid.
But he knows that in of its ethnological varieties, picturesque in its poverty. And yet, the end the best may to defend oneself is to attack. So he throws this language of the president is just as peculiar, laden as it is with himself on this fierce-looking man and takes the old man by the unreal cliches; it is a language for school essays, not for a concrete throat.
Not a word is spoken. But to Gaston Dominici, the simple psychology but perhaps it is unavoidable for most men, alas, to fact that someone should want to hold him down by both shoulders have the psychology of the language which they have been taught.
It was physically impossible for him to bear this These are in actual fact two particular uses of language which strength which was suddenly pitted against him. But one of them has honours, law and force on like the temple of Sesostris, like the Literature of M.
Only, to base archaeology or the novel on a 'Why not? Justice took the mask of Realist literature, of the to take other men as objects, to describe and condemn at one country tale, while literature itself came to the court-room to gather stroke.
It is an adjectival psychology, it knows only how to endow new 'human' documents, and naively to seek from the face of the its victims with epithets, it is ignorant of everything about the accused and the suspects the reflection of a psychology which, actions themselves, save the guilty category into which they are however, it had been the first to impose on them by the arm of the forcibly made to fit.
These categories are none other than those of law. Utilitarian, taking no account of any of literature. There have not been here only writers hungering for state of consciousness, this psychology has nevertheless the reality and brilliant narrators whose 'dazzling' verve carries off a pretension of giving as a basis for actions a preexisting inner man's head; whatever the degree of guilt of the accused, there was person, it postulates 'the soul': it judges man as a 'conscience' also the spectacle of a terror which threatens us all, that of being without being embarrassed by having previously described him as judged by a power which wants to hear only the language it lends an object.
We are all potential Dominicis, not as murderers but as accused, deprived of language, or worse, rigged out in that of our Now that particular psychology, in the name of which you can very accusers, humiliated and condemned by it.
To rob a man of his well today have your head cut off, comes straight from our language in the very name of language: this is the first step in all traditional literature, that which one calls in bourgeois style legal murders. Behind the judges, in curule chairs, the his land.
And on the prosecution side, do we see a lawyer? There is no path, I know, 'undeniable wit' and a 'dazzling verve' to quote the shocking I've been there! Even 'been'. Gaston Dominici is an astonishing quick-change artist playing with human souls, and animal thoughts This false patriarch of the Grand'Terre has not just a few facets, he has a hundred!
It is a fine physiognomy, which priests, it is not due to chance whether one is bearded or not; clearly displays all the signs of apostleship: a benign expression, a beards are chiefly the attribute of missionaries or Capuchins, they Franciscan haircut, a missionary's beard, all this made complete by cannot but signify apostleship and poverty.
They withdraw their the sheepskin coat of the worker-priest and the staff of the pilgrim. Shaven priests are supposed Thus are united the marks of legend and those of modernity. Behind The haircut, for example, half shorn, devoid of affectation and a beard, one belongs a little less to one's bishop, to the hierarchy, above all of definite shape, is without doubt trying to achieve a to the Church as a political force; one looks freer, a bit of an style completely outside the bounds of art and even of technique, a independent, more primitive in short, benefiting from the prestige sort of zero degree of haircut.
One has to have one's hair cut, of of the first hermits, enjoying the blunt candour of the founders of course; but at least, let this necessary operation imply no particular monastic life, the depositories of the spirit against the letter: mode of existence: let it exist, but let it not be anything in wearing a beard means exploring in the same spirit the slums, the particular. I am only wondering about the enormous consumption of up by functioning as the sign of neutrality, and if you really wished such signs by the public.
I see it reassured by the spectacular to go unnoticed, you would be back where you started. If we are to believe the weekly Elle, which some time ago mustered seventy women novelists on one photograph, the woman of letters is a remarkable zoological species: she brings forth, pell- mell, novels and children.
We are introduced, for example, to Jacqueline Lenoir two daughters, one novel ; Marina Grey one son, one novel ; Nicole Dutreil two sons, four novels , etc.
What does it mean? This: to write is a glorious but bold activity; the writer is an 'artist', one recognizes that he is entitled to a little bohemianism.
As he is in general entrusted - at least in the France of Elle - with giving society reasons for its clear conscience, he must, after all, be paid for his services: one tacitly grants him the right to some individuality. But make no mistake: let no women believe that they can take advantage of this pact without having first submitted to the eternal statute of womanhood.
Women are on the earth to give children to men; let them write as much as they like, let them decorate their condition, but above all, let them not depart from it: let their Biblical fate not be disturbed by the promotion which is conceded to them, and let them pay immediately, by the tribute of their motherhood, for this bohemianism which has a natural link with a writer's life.
Women, be therefore courageous, free; play at being men, write like them; but never get far from them; live under their gaze, compensate for your books by your children; enjoy a free rein for a while, but quickly come back to your condition. One novel, one child, a little feminism, a little connubiality. Let us tie the adventure of art to the strong pillars of the home: both will profit a great deal from this combination: where myths are concerned, mutual help is always fruitful.
Write, if you want to, we women shall respectability, the touching decor of the nursery. So that all is well all be very proud of it; but don't forget on the other hand to in the best of all worlds - that of Elle. Let women acquire self- produce children, for that is your destiny. A jesuitic morality: adapt confidence: they can very well have access, like men, to the the moral rule of your condition, but never compromise about the superior status of creation. But let men be quickly reassured: dogma on which it rests.
Man at first seems absent from this double parturition; children and novels alike seem to come by themselves, and to belong to the mother alone. At a pinch, and by dint of seeing seventy times books and kids bracketed together, one would think that they are equally the fruits of imagination and dream, the miraculous products of an ideal parthenogenesis able to give at once to woman, apparently, the Balzacian joys of creation and the tender joys of motherhood.
Where then is man in this family picture? Nowhere and everywhere, like the sky, the horizon, an authority which at once determines and limits a condition. Such is the world of Elle: women there are always a homogeneous species, an established body jealous of its privileges, still more enamoured of the burdens that go with them. Man is never inside, femininity is pure, free, powerful; but man is everywhere around, he presses on all sides, he makes everything exist; he is in all eternity the creative absence, that of the Racinian deity: the feminine world of Elle, a world without men, but entirely constituted by the gaze of man, is very exactly that of the gynaeceum.
In every feature of Elle we find this twofold action: lock the gynaeceum, then and only then release woman inside. He is turned into a little stay-at-home householder who does not even have to invent the mainsprings of adult causality; they are supplied to him ready- French toys: one could not find a better illustration of the fact that made: he has only to help himself, he is never allowed to discover the adult Frenchman sees the child as another self.
All the toys one anything from start to finish. The merest set of blocks, provided it commonly sees are essentially a microcosm of the adult world; is not too refined, implies a very different learning of the world: they are all reduced copies of human objects, as if in the eyes of then, the child does not in any way create meaningful objects, it the public the child was, all told, nothing but a smaller man, a matters little to him whether they have an adult name; the actions homunculus to whom must be supplied objects of his own size.
He creates forms which walk, which roll, he creates life, not property: Invented forms are very rare: a few sets of blocks, which appeal to objects now act by themselves, they are no longer an inert and the spirit of do-it-yourself, are the only ones which offer dynamic complicated material in the palm of his hand.
But such toys are forms. As for the others, French toys always mean something, and rather rare: French toys are usually based on imitation, they are this something is always entirely socialized, constituted by the meant to produce children who are users, not creators.
Many are now moulded from complicated toys. A sign which fills one with functions obviously cannot but prepare the child to accept them all, consternation is the gradual disappearance of wood, in spite of its by constituting for him, even before he can think about it, the alibi being an ideal material because of its firmness and its softness, and of a Nature which has at all times created soldiers, postmen and the natural warmth of its touch.
Wood removes, from all the forms Vespas. Toys here reveal the list of all the things the adult does not which it supports, the wounding quality of angles which are too find unusual: war, bureaucracy, ugliness, Martians, etc. It is not so sharp, the chemical coldness of metal. When the child handles it much, in fact, the imitation which is the sign of an abdication, as and knocks it, it neither vibrates nor grates, it has a sound at once its literalness: French toys are like a Jivaro head, in which one muffled and sharp.
It is a familiar and poetic substance, which does recognizes, shrunken to the size of an apple, the wrinkles and hair not sever the child from close contact with the tree, the table, the of an adult. There exist, for instance, dolls which urinate; they have floor. Wood does not wound or break down; it does not shatter, it an oesophagus, one gives them a bottle, they wet their nappies; wears out, it can last a long time, live with the child, alter little by soon, no doubt, milk will turn to water in their stomachs.
This is little the relations between the object and the hand. If it dies, it is in meant to prepare the little girl for the causality of house-keeping, dwindling, not in swelling out like those mechanical toys which to 'condition' her to her future role as mother. However, faced with disappear behind the hernia of a broken spring. Wood makes this world of faithful and complicated objects, the child can only essential objects, objects for all time. Henceforth, toys are chemical in substance and colour; their very material introduces one to a coenaesthesis of use, not pleasure.
These toys die in fact very quickly, and once dead, they have no posthumous life for the child. Garbo still belongs to that moment in cinema when capturing the human face still plunged audiences into the deepest ecstasy, when one literally lost oneself in a human image as one would in a philtre, when the face represented a kind of absolute state of the flesh, which could be neither reached nor renounced. A few years earlier the face of Valentino was causing suicides; that of Garbo still partakes of the same rule of Courtly Love, where the flesh gives rise to mystical feelings of perdition.
It is indeed an admirable face-object. In Queen Christina, a film which has again been shown in Paris in the last few years, the make-up has the snowy thickness of a mask: it is not a painted face, but one set in plaster, protected by the surface of the colour, not by its lineaments. Amid all this snow at once fragile and compact, the eyes alone, black like strange soft flesh, but not in the least expressive, are two faintly tremulous wounds. The main characters of this philosophy, non fiction story are ,.
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