In _The Preparation of the Novel_, a collection of lectures delivered at a defining moment in Roland Barthes's career (and completed just weeks before his death), the critic spoke of his struggle to discover a different way of writing and a new approach to life. _The Neutral_ preceded this work, containing Barthes's challenge to the classic oppositions of Western thought and his effort to establish new pathways of meaning. _How to Live Together_ predates both of these achievements, a series (...) of lectures exploring solitude and the degree of contact necessary for individuals to exist and create at their own pace. A distinct project that sets the tone for his subsequent lectures, _How to Live Together_ is a key introduction to Barthes's pedagogical methods and critical worldview. In this work, Barthes focuses on the concept of "idiorrhythmy," a productive form of living together in which one recognizes and respects the individual rhythms of the other. He explores this phenomenon through five texts that represent different living spaces and their associated ways of life: Émile Zola's _Pot-Bouille_, set in a Parisian apartment building; Thomas Mann's _The Magic Mountain_, which takes place in a sanatorium; André Gide's _La Séquestrée de Poitiers_, based on the true story of a woman confined to her bedroom; Daniel Defoe's _Robinson Crusoe_, about a castaway on a remote island; and Pallidius's _Lausiac History_, detailing the ascetic lives of the desert fathers. As with his previous lecture books, _How to Live Together_ exemplifies Barthes's singular approach to teaching, in which he invites his audience to investigate with him--or for him--and wholly incorporates his listeners into his discoveries. Rich with playful observations and suggestive prose, _How to Live Together_ orients English-speaking readers to the full power of Barthes's intellectual adventures. (shrink)

Roland Barthes, the French critic and semiotician, was one of the most important critics and essayists of this century. His work continues to influence contemporary literary theory and cultural studies. Image-Music-Text collects Barthes's best writings on photography and the cinema, as well as fascinating articles on the relationship between images and sound. Two of Barthes's most important essays, "Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narrative" and "The Death of the Author" are also included in this fine anthology, an excellent (...) introduction to his thought. These essays, as selected and translated by Stephen Heath, are among the finest writings Barthes ever published on film and photography, and on the phenomena of sound and image. The classic pieces "Introduction to the Structural Analysis of Narrative" and "The Death of the Author" are also included. (shrink)

Roland Barthes, whose centenary falls in 2015, was a restless, protean thinker. A constant innovator, often as a daring smuggler of ideas from one discipline to another, he first gained an audience with his pithy essays on mass culture and then went on to produce some of the most suggestive and stimulating cultural criticism of the late twentieth century, including Empire of Signs, The Pleasure of the Text, and Camera Lucida. In 1976, this one time structuralist outsider was elected (...) to a chair at France's preeminent College de France, where he chose to style himself as professor of literary semiology until his death in 1980. The greater part of Barthes's published writings have been available to a French audience since 2002, but here, translator Chris Turner presents a collection of essays, interviews, prefaces, book reviews, and other journalistic material for the first time in English. Divided into five themed volumes, readers are presented in volume one, 'A Very Fine Gift' and Other Writings on Theory, with Barthes's attempts to frame his lifelong curiosities in theoretical form, from his early musings on the sociology of literature through his high period of structuralism to his later reflections on Derrida. (shrink)

"I define the Neutral as that which outplays the paradigm, or rather I call Neutral everything that baffles paradigm." With these words, Roland Barthes describes a concept that profoundly shaped his work and was the subject of a landmark series of lectures delivered in 1978 at the Collège de France, just two years before his death. Not published in France until 2002, and appearing in English for the first time, these creative and engaging lectures deepen our understanding of (...) class='Hi'>Roland Barthes's intellectual itinerary and reveal his distinctive style as thinker and teacher. The Neutral (_le neutre_), as Barthes describes it, escapes or undoes the paradigmatic binary oppositions that structure and produce meaning in Western thought and discourse. These binaries are found in all aspects of human society ranging from language to sexuality to politics. For Barthes, the attempt to deconstruct or escape from these binaries has profound ethical, philosophical, and linguistic implications. _The Neutral_ is comprised of the prewritten texts from which Barthes lectured and centers around 23 "figures," also referred to as "traits" or "twinklings," that are possible embodiments of the Neutral (sleep, silence, tact, etc.) or of the anti-Neutral (anger, arrogance, conflict, etc.). His lectures draw on a diverse set of authors and intellectual traditions, including Lao-tzu, Tolstoy, German mysticism, classical philosophy, Rousseau, Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin, and John Cage. Barthes's idiosyncratic approach to his subjects gives the lectures a playful, personal, and even joyous quality that enhances his rich insights. In addition to his reflections on a variety of literary and scholarly works, Barthes's personal convictions and the events of his life shaped the course and content of the lectures. Most prominently, as Barthes admits, the recent death of his mother and the idea of mourning shape several of his lectures. (shrink)

This book brings together the great majority of Barthes's interviews that originally appeared in French in _Le Figaro Littéraire, Cahiers du Cinéma, France-Observateur, L'Express_, and elsewhere. Barthes replied to questions—on the cinema, on his own works, on fashion, writing, and criticism—in his unique voice; here we have Barthes in conversation, speaking directly, with all his individuality. These interviews provide an insight into the rich, probing intelligence of one of the great and influential minds of our time.

Roland Barthes' renowned and never before translated lectures pursue a central theme in his work, namely the quest for the neutral.

01. Leçon inaugurale/Inaugural lecture - janvier/January 7, 1977 « Comment vivre ensemble – Sur l'idiorrythmie » Leçons au Collège de France – 1977 02. Comment vivre ensemble 01 - janvier/January 12, 1977 03. Comment vivre ensemble 02 - janvier/January 19, 1977 04. Comment vivre ensemble 03 - janvier/January 26, 1977 05. Comment vivre ensemble 04 - février/February 2, 1977 06. Comment vivre ensemble 05 - février/February 9, 1977 07. Comment vivre ensemble 06 - février/February 16, (...) - Comment penser le (...) pouvoir dans le monde contemporain ? – Nouvel article. (shrink)

The late French literary and social critic's intimate journal, first published after his death and translated into English here for the first time, and three other autobiographical texts in which he explores his homosexuality are combined in one volume. Original.

Sweeping denials of the story's capacity to accurately reflect the past are ever catalyzing equally misleading global affirmations. The impositionalists, such as theorist Hayden White, view historical narratives as imposing a falsifying narrative structure on the past, and conclude that narratives cannot be true. Plot-reifiers, such as Alasdair MacIntyre, David Carr, and Frederick Olafson, posit that the past is already narratively structured; historical plots are reified in order for there to be something in the world to which narrative structures can (...) correspond in being true. The antireferentialists such as JeanFrançois Lyotard and Roland Barthes deny that narrative histories even claim truth. Escaping this trilemma of theoretical interpretation involves accepting the idea that construction of a history does not entail its falsification. Historical narrative need to be allowed to function both figurally, in the sense of generating new discursive figures, and at the same time literally, in the sense of asking to be understood literally. Narratives need to be understood on their own terms, and not treated as an approximation to some foreign ideal. (shrink)

continent. 2.1 (2012): 40–43. Lance Olsen is a professor of Writing and Literature at the University of Utah, Chair of the FC2 Board of directors, and, most importantly, author or editor of over twenty books of and about innovative literature. He is one of the true champions of prose as a viable contemporary art form. He has just published Architectures of Possibility (written with Trevor Dodge), a book that—as Olsen's works often do—exceeds the usual boundaries of its genre as it (...) explores his interests in narrative theory and pedagogy. The book is a kind of “anti-textbook;” a performative polemic against the stale, conservative and monolithic conception of the literary that so often dominates institutional discourse around creative writing. The following interview takes the occasion of AoP's publication as a chance to speak with Olsen about the book itself as well as to engage with larger, unanswerable, questions about the futures and intersections of literature and education. —Ben Segal INTERVIEW: 1) First, I want to start before the beginning, with the title. I’m really fascinated by the concept it conjures. Can you say something about innovative/experimental/(choose your adjective) literature in relation to both ideas around architecture and possibility? Innovative or experimental are tremendously fraught adjectives, needless to say. But for the purposes of my book, they modify a fiction concerned with the questions: What is fiction? What can it do, and how, and why? Now, of course, what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 17 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 27 or 57, and what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 1812 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 2012. A certain existential and historical perspectivism is always at work. But I think it’s fair to say that innovative and experimental usually refer to a narrativity that includes a self-reflective awareness of and engagement with theoretical inquiry, concerns, and obsessions, as well as a sense of being in conversation with fiction across space and time. One can't create challenging writing in a vacuum; it has to challenge in relation to something. So contemporary writers interested in the subject are not only in pursuit of the innovative, but are also always-already writing subsequent to it—writing, that is, in its long wake. Architectures of Possibility conceives of creativity as a possibility space, a locale just outside our comfort zones where we can and should take multiple chances in order to imagine in new ways, explore fresh strategies for finding and cultivating ideas, re-view what it is we’re doing and why, better understand what Samuel Beckett meant when he wrote: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” It reminds us that there are other ways of narrating our worlds and ourselves than those we have inherited from the entertainment industry, the government, academia, previous writing, and so on. 2) AoP seems to be directed at several audiences (and purposes) simultaneously. What I mean is that it seems at times a polemic in favor of innovative literature, at other times a creative writing textbook, and still other times a guide to the network of publishers, journals, and programs that make up the current world of non-mainstream literary art in the U.S. In my mind, Architectures is a theorized anti-textbook about writing. Most textbooks on the subject (think of Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft , taught in most creative-writing classroom across the country) orchestrate how to construct conventional stories. They instruct from a place of power how to generate familiar stories that are repeated so often that many of us begin to take them as the primary model for narrativity, if not unconsciously as a kind of truth. The result, as Brian Kiteley points out in 3 A.M. Epiphany (one of the only other alternative textbooks about innovative writing around, by the way, and a tremendous repository of exercises), is merely competent texts. Architectures problematizes that gesture by outlining what conventional narrativity looks like, urging writers to think about its ideology of form as well as content, and invites them to imagine writing, not as a set of relatively stable conventions, but, rather, as a possibility space where everything can and should be thought, tried, challenged. It thereby rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer—which is to say Architectures poses complications to the act of writing rather than solutions. 3) One of the most notable things about the book is the use of interviews. This is also one of the reasons that I think the book works so well for a variety of audiences—that anyone with even a passing interest in the state and future of literature will have an interest in your conversation with people like Ben Marcus, Samuel Delany, and Lydia Davis. I was hoping you could just talk a little about how you chose these subjects to interview, how you edited the interview material, and which answers you received struck you the most. Experimentalism , like realism , wants to appear in the plural. The idea of gathering more than forty interviews (with the help of my awesome collaborator, Trevor Dodge, himself a fine innovative author) represents an attempt to suggest that: the wide, rich, exciting opportunities inherent in the term. There are interviews with younger writers, elder statesmen in the field, publishers, editors, hypermedia artists, comic book makers, and so on: Joe Wenderoth, Carole Maso, Scott McCloud, Nick Montfort, Kathy Acker, et al. Trevor and I decided to do flash interviews: short, concentrated Q&As, each focusing on a particular troubling of writing. We only lightly edited the results to match the manuscript’s overall style, and every interview arrived as a surprise housing several unexpected insights. Three brief examples: Michael Mejia, when asked about what he dreads when setting about writing: “Dread is an interesting word here. I associate it less with loathing or aversion, I suppose, than with a kind of productive fear. Do I dread a project’s failure? Sure, who doesn’t? Who wants to waste time on something that comes to nothing, or is unreadable? But then, what do these terms mean, and who or what defines a work as a ‘failure,’ as ‘waste,’ as ‘unreadable’? Should a work actually try to interrogate and exceed these conceptual limitations? My tendency is to write into dread in order to reveal to myself, as much as to any reader that may come after, the varied complacencies that make other, mostly more conventional writings, readable. It’s at the frontier between readability (security) and unreadability (terror) that I want to live creatively.” Carole Maso, when asked what she’d like a sentence to accomplish: “I think a sentence can if allowed carry emotional and intellectual states as they flee, as they come and go, an escaping essence difficult to hold in other ways. In this way I think the sentence can work as a phrase of music does, sounding something large and elusive in us. Alternatively it can provide sometimes a stability, an essence, a moment of being. Unlike music the sentence also of course carries language with all its potential for meaning making and memory traces and association with it as well. I probably love the accretion of sentences most—those patterns, that shimmer, that resonance.” Shelley Jackson, when asked what is innovative about the innovative: “The purpose of the innovative is, I think, to wake us up. We are not quite alive, most of the time; we occupy a sort of cartoon version of our lives, its lines made smooth by repetition. Writing can open the seams in that world, reintroduce us to the real lives that we have forgotten. Maybe all good writing is innovative in some sense, in that it shows or tells or makes you feel something you never felt before—something for which you have no cartoon ready.” 4) You talk a little about N. Katherine Hayles’s concept of Media Specific Analysis and propose the supplemental notion of Medium Specific Generation—basically taking Hayles and applying her thought from the perspective of the writer. I’ve been trying to develop somewhat related theoretical frameworks, so I was really excited to come upon this section of the book. I’m wondering if you can talk a little more about this idea and, in general, about the potentials that you see as being opened up by writers engaging with and exploiting different media as literary platforms? “Lulled into somnolence by five hundred years of print,” Hayles urges in her (at least for me) transformative 2004 essay, “Print is Flat, Code is Deep,” “literary analysis should awaken to the importance of media-specific analysis, a mode of critical attention which recognizes that all texts are instantiated and that the nature of the medium in which they are instantiated matters.” She goes on to argue critics should learn to become more attuned to the materiality of the medium under investigation—which is to say a story isn’t a story isn’t a story. Rather, the “same” story remediated through film is intrinsically different from that story remediated through conventionally printed books is intrinsically different from that story remediated through hypermedia. “Materiality,” Hayles goes on, “is reconceptualized as the interplay between a text’s physical characteristics and its signifying strategies, a move that entwines instantiation and signification at the outset.” My point in Architectures is simply to emphasize Media Specific Generation: the idea that when writing you should be cognizant, not only of the thematics of the text you are working on, and, as it were, the internal components of its narrativity (character, language, plot, etc.), but also of the material embodiment those components take, and, perhaps more important, the material embodiment those components can take. The idea that the way texts matter matters isn’t something usually addressed in any significant way in creative-writing classrooms and textbooks. It may almost go without saying such experimentation with typography, layout, and white space has a long tradition—certainly one that tracks back at least as far as Guillaume Apollinaire’s early twentieth-century Calligrammes , Laurence Sterne’s textually ribald eighteenth-century Tristram Shandy , although one could arguably plot a hypothetical trajectory that reaches to ancient Greek romances like Achilles Tatius’ second-century Leucippe and Clitophon . Experiments into atomic materiality and digital immateriality bracket the definition of “book” at the same time they highlight Michael Martone’s prediction of its present future as increasingly viral, collaborative, and ephemeral. Or, as Matthew Battles points out: the future of the “book” has already arrived, and it is “ethereal and networked” rather than “an immutable brick.”While conventional writing and reading practices are conceptualized as private, individual, relatively fixed experiences, many of the new forms indicate that writing and reading—from production through dissemination—are rapidly becoming public, collective, incrementally unfixed experiences. That strikes me as an astonishing set of opportunities for a writer to investigate. 5) Another concept you elaborate in AoP is that of limit texts, basically texts that, once you read them, change what you imagine as the shape/horizon/potential of literature. You provide a fantastic reading list of limit texts at the end of AoP. I was hoping you could talk about a few of them in terms of how they specifically operate as limit texts for you—how they expand your understanding of what literature could be or do. Karl Jaspers coined the word Grenzsituationen (border/limit situations) to describe existential moments accompanied by anxiety in which the human mind is forced to confront the restrictions of its existing forms—moments that make us abandon, fleetingly, the securities of our limitedness and enter new realms of self-consciousness. Death, for example. Limit texts are a variety of disturbance that carries various elements of narrativity to their brink so the reader can never quite imagine them in the same terms again. Once you’ve taken one down from the shelf, you’ll never be able to put it back up again. They won’t leave you alone. They will continue to work on your imagination long after you’ve read them. Simply by being in the world, they ask us to embrace difficulty, freedom, radical skepticism. One of the most important for me is Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable . Instead of establishing conventional setting and building traditional character, from its first words it unsettles both: “Where now? Who now? When now?” That first trio of question marks broadcasts the thematics of the writing (“novel” may be too strong a word) that will follow: it is all about a voice (or, perhaps, voices, about the grammatical mistake of the first-person pronoun), a consciousness (maybe, again, too strong a word), often genderless, removed from place and chronology and socioeconomic reality, hovering in a state of perpetual aporia. All it knows is what it doesn’t know, and its not-knowing is blackly, sardonically comic. The Unnamable is the embodiment of an unreliable narrator—a subject position that can’t trust itself, let alone be trusted by a reader. It contradicts, takes back, digresses, undoes what it just did, forgets, lies, hallucinates gloriously. The language is abstract, disembodied, devoid of sensory data, grayish rather than painterly in texture. Without knowing this passage is from a novel, a reader might well conclude s/he were reading a patch of (anti-)Cartesian philosophy. It might be helpful to conceive of what Beckett is doing as post-genre writing, then, or perhaps what Raymond Federman referred to as critifiction—a mode that blurs conventional distinctions between theory and narrative. In completely different register, and much more recently, Anne Carson’s Nox blew me away. It takes the form of an elegy for her older brother, whom she didn’t know well and who died unexpectedly while on the run from the law in Europe. The thing itself arrives in a box that simulates a thick book, as well as the brother’s textual coffin. Open it, and inside you discover, not a codex, but an accordioned series of “pages” that folds out into an arrangement that suggests an ancient scroll (Carson is, perhaps illuminatingly, a professor of classics) made up of shards of her brother’s letters, old photographs, tickets, Carson’s observations, Catullus’ poem 101 (the one addressed to the Roman poet’s dead brother, a doubling of Carson’s situation), and extensive dictionary entries on all the words that compose that poem. The aggregate produces a collage about the impossibilities of aggregates, the impossibilities of understanding fully, of capturing absences in language. At times Nox feels less an example of what most readers consider a book than something closer to a three-dimensional work of assemblage art. It’s a beautiful mechanism for contemplating Media Specific Analysis, for urging us all to be more extreme. 6) Finally, I want to talk a little about pedagogy and institutions. I’m less interested in questions like “Are MFA programs good for writers?” than in questions about how your role as teacher informs your understanding of literature and your writing practice. I’m also very curious about your take on how commercially marginal literary art is largely patronized by large state institutions and at the same time often imagines itself as a critical and even possibly revolutionary practice. How have your own positions within universities and university-affiliated organizations shaped your thinking about them and about innovative literature? I can imagine in many ways it might make you even more critical. And (I know, another ‘and’...) how does AoP (especially given its relation to Rebel Yell , your previous text on creative writing) reflect your personal history and experience as a teacher and member of communities that are largely defined by institutions? In the classroom, I try to generate the pedagogical field I would have liked to have inhabited as a student, but didn’t. Roland Barthes has a lovely line about this: “We need to substitute for the magisterial [classroom] space of the past (the word delivered by the master from the pulpit above with the audience below, the flock, the sheep, the herd)—a less upright, less Euclidean space where no one, neither teacher nor students, would ever be in his final place.” Easier said than done, of course, but an important life project for all who think of themselves as educators. My own classroom, my own writing, and Architectures of Possibility itself attempt to create the sort of possibility space where, as I mentioned at the outset of our interview, everything should be thought, tried, challenged; where everything rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer. I’m not sure I could write what I’m writing now without the conversations I have almost daily with my students, the conversations they have with each other, the conversations we all have with the texts we study. Especially in light of the paradigm shift over the last, say, quarter century from academia as intellectual exploration to academia as McDonaldized trade school, the irony isn’t lost on me concerning the discrepancy between the safe harbor innovative authors find there and the cultural critiques those authors launch through their writing and pedagogical work. In 2001, I quit my full professorship at one institution precisely because of my disappointment over what had happened to the learning environment there. I had no intentions of reentering the field. In 2007, however, the University of Utah approached me, and I found myself in an environment much more hospitable to the sort of work I want to do—teaching experimental narrative theory and practice. It isn’t by any means a simple irony. One could easily argue innovative writing and pedagogy represents the trace of the paradigm Barthes suggests, and that trace is tremendously productive in all kinds of ways. Innovative writing has never and will never change the world in any large, macrocosmic way. But we’ve all had our lives changed, one by one, by an encounter with a difficult, rich, resonant piece of prose, poetry, music, art, you name it. We’ve all had our lives changed at the ahistorical, microcosmic moment by a class we’ve taken, a teacher we’ve studied with, to such an extent that we became, quite literally, different people. I just came across a stunning set of sentences from Derrida on the topic: “What is education? The death of the parents.” That’s what we’re all up to in the innovative, be it in written texts or the texts we call our classrooms or the texts we call our politics: trying to disrupt what both can and can’t be disrupted, trying to undo what both can and can’t be undone, continuously. (shrink)

Este ensaio tem como objetivo afirmar a leitura e a escrita enquanto processo ativo tradutório, por meio da reimaginação do Texto de Partida As cidades invisíveis, redigido em 1972 pelo autor italiano Ítalo Calvino. O ensaio é tecido mediante a noção de fragmentos, tal como entendido por Tavares, em que a escrita se constitui como uma experimentação do pensamento. Toma como ponto de partida as pistas deixadas pelo viajante Marco Polo, na obra de Calvino, a qual foi lida e reinventada (...) pelos acadêmicos do Curso de Pedagogia de uma Instituição de Ensino Superior localizada no interior do Rio Grande do Sul. Um Roteiro de Procedimentos Escrileitores – escritura e leitura – das Cidades de Calvino foi disponibilizado aos estudantes, tendo como proposição mostrar nove regras, cujo objetivo consistiu em servir à operação tradutório-inventiva. A partir delas, os estudantes arriscaram uma leitura ativa e uma escritura viva, ou seja, uma escritura tradutória, que não visa à recuperação literal do texto, mas privilegia uma escrileitura inventiva e traduções-reinvenções. Como aporte teórico, o texto aproxima-se do pensamento da diferença, de Roland Barthes, de Gilles Deleuze, além das teorizações da tradução literária propostas por Haroldo de Campos. Trata-se de experimentar a prática da leitura e o ensaio da escrita gerando novas interpretações ao Texto de Partida. Nesse sentido, ler-e-escrever configuram-se como uma prática aberta, jamais definitiva e tampouco estática. Em síntese, o texto propõe defender que os Textos de Partida são sempre fisgados pelos processos tradutórios e, por isso, novamente reinventados via leitura e escrita em Textos de Chegada. Palavras-chave: Tradução. Recriação. Pedagogia. Educação. (shrink)

Roland Barthes, çağdaş mitlere göstergebilimsel bir çözümleme uygulayarak bu mitlerin esasen ideolojik bir mesaj ya da bildiri içerdiğini ortaya koyar. Modern mitler, gösterdiğinden başka bir şey kast eder; onların gerçek anlamının dışında her zaman ikincil bir anlamı vardır. Bu da mitlerin muğlaklıklar, aldatmacalar, belirsizlikler ve çok anlamlılık içerdiği manasına gelir. Göstergebilimsel analiz, söz konusu aldatmacaların ardında gizlenen amacı görünür hale getirir. Bu amaç da, burjuva sınıfının politik, kültürel, ekonomik ve toplumsal egemenliğini korumak ve devam ettirmektir. Mitlerde ‘doğal’ olarak sunulan (...) aslında belirli bir ideolojik dünya görüşü tarafından inşa edilir. Bu ideoloji de burjuva ideolojisidir. Çağdaş mitler, burjuva dünya görüşünü ebedi bir doğaya dönüştürür. Barthes’ın çözümlemesi, mitler tarafından doğallaştırılan ve evrenselleştirilen göstergelerin esasen burjuva ideolojisinin amacına hizmet ettiğini gösterir. Bu çalışmada, Barthes’ın göstergebilim yoluyla anlam incelemesine nasıl politik bir önem kazandırdığı ve burjuva kültürünü eleştirme amacını nasıl bilimsel bir temele dayandırdığı gösterilecektir. (shrink)

Even if the theoretical prestige of the notion of ecology is recent, an ecological writing has already been racticed, without receiving this name, by Roland Barthes. On several occasions, progressively after Writing Degree zero, Roland Barthes envisaged writing as a multifaceted practice, the most suitable for overturning the only order worth to be revolutionized, the symbolic order. We will take a fresh look at Barthes' writing as a theoretical concept in the early 1950s, along a shift that takes (...) the term first to the name of a technique. Finally, in the mid-1970s, writing comes to be defined by Barthes as a practice that ignores the dichotomy between matter or body and mind or idea, and which arrives, in a spiral return movement, at an inclusive conception that recovers both the concept and the practice. This is where writing meets, in Barthes' work, the act that Latour calls "greening" and which he defines above all as a new relationship between facts and values. In the light of the latest research in "Barthesian studies" we would like to show that the future of "theory", if it is ecology today, lies in the practice and ecological commitment of writing, as a mediator of meaning, a tool of "charitable fiction", at the confines of spirit and matter. (shrink)

Au Roland Barthes critique, celui des analyses litteraires des Essais critiques, du Sur Racine ou des constructions theoriques nourries par la linguistique et le structuralisme comme le Degre zero de l ecriture, S/Z, le Systeme de la mode; au Roland Barthes ecrivain, sachant meler, avec une originalite inimitable, fiction et reflexions analytiques dans le Roland Barthes par Roland Barthes ou les Fragments d un discours amoureux, il faudrait ajouter un Roland Barthes, moins connu et moins (...) analyse, celui de l - amateur - d art. Il n aura pas fallu attendre son dernier livre, La Chambre claire, pour savoir que Roland Barthes aimait les uvres d art visuel et qu il pratiquait lui-meme, avec grand plaisir et serieux, la peinture. Des ses premiers textes rassembles dans les Essais critiques, il associe a des etudes sur Tacite, Chateaubriand, Baudelaire ou Robbe-Grillet, un essai sur Pieter Saenredam avec lequel il ouvre un recueil pourtant consacre a la litterature. Tout au long de son uvre, que cela soit sous la forme de preface de catalogues consacres a des artistes contemporains (Bernard Requichot, Daniel Boudinet, Cy Twombly), d articles sur des artistes classiques (Arcimboldo, Artemisia Gentileschi) ou de reflexions plus generales sur l art (le kitsch, le cinema, l abstraction, la musique), Roland Barthes a accorde une attention toute particuliere aux images. Elles etaient, a ses yeux, bien plus qu un passe-temps, un delassement intellectuel qui l eloignait de son veritable travail critique. L image, et l imaginaire qui lui est lie, possede une vertu que le texte ne semble pas pouvoir revendiquer: meler le langage expressif au discours critique, faire emerger la - substance sous le concept - et pousser la question de la signification jusqu a sa limite la plus extreme. Sans s embarrasser des regles methodiques dictees par l histoire de l art, en se voulant - sauvage et sans culture - devant ces uvres d art qui venaient a lui comme par - inadvertance -, qui l incitaient a l - aventure -, Roland Barthes a elabore une - esthetique - qui demeure une des plus singulieres et utiles contributions a l etude des images. Le - troisieme sens - et son correlat, la - signifiance - (cet - au-dela - du sens), l - imaginaire de l image - ou bien encore le celebre couple Punctum/ Studium avec lequel il precise la dimension subjective de tout commerce avec les uvres sont autant de propositions methodiques que l auteur reconsidere attentivement afin de tirer toute la force heuristique de cette - lecon de l image - a laquelle nous convie Roland Barthes. La - lecon de l art - que Barthes retient de son commerce constant avec les uvres d artistes contemporains (Cy Twombly, Daniel Boudinet, Bernard Requichot) ou anciens (Saenredam, Arcimboldo) a permis de developper une reflexion singuliere sur le fonctionnement des images. - En elaborant des notions comme la - signifiance -, le - troisieme sens - ou le fameux - punctum - afin de traduire les effets que les images provoquaient sur lui, Barthes a compose une veritable esthetique qu il est temps de lire avec autant de serieux que de plaisir.". (shrink)

Previous chapter Roland Barthes is as famous as Lefebvre and Foucault and does not need much of a biographical introduction either. Let us begin with his election in 1976—on a proposal from Foucault—to the chair of Sémiologie Littéraire at the Collège de France. The very next year, on January 12, he remarkably initiated his teaching with a lecture course on “idiorrhythm” from the Roman Empire to the 20th century, entitled Comment vivre ensemble? Simulation romanesque de quelques - Pour une (...) éthique et une politique du rythme – Nouvel article. (shrink)

El artículo propone una lectura de La chambre claire de Roland Barthes tomando como base el sintagma “locura de la fotografía”, como indicio de una teoría original y radical de la experiencia fotográfica. En virtud de su estatuto ontológico y tecnológico (la conformación inédita de una imagen-tiempo) y de una articulación indisociable entre el orden referencial y el polo pulsional en el Spectator (ligando la fotografía, de manera central, a los procesos inconscientes), la foto posee una potencia singular: la (...) de marcar en el sujeto una intensidad afectiva única. Demostraremos que Barthes comprende la fotografía como el lugar de una experiencia extrema, en cuanto, en el evento del punctum, el Spectator roza el límite del sentido y el advenimento de lo innombrable. (shrink)

1 Where to begin? 'Life and times' Roland Barthes is generally acknowledged, even by those not conversant with his books, as one of the leading figures of ...

I aim to reconsider some arguments in and about Camera Lucida at face value and afresh in order to clarify their philosophical origin. Since it would be pointless to try to address everything, I focus on three specific issues, which are interconnected and whose analysis should not only do justice to Barthes’s book but also permit, I hope, a more nuanced critique of his work in the future. First, I will briefly revisit his understanding of the problem of the referent (...) (that sticks to the image), or simply, of the real in the image. This step is essential not only because it is still sometimes subject to divergent interpretations, but also because it helps to understand Barthes’s methodological choices – such as his choice of phenomenology. I argue – and this is my second point, which I will try to demonstrate through a detailed analysis – that Camera Lucida is even more phenomenological than Barthes was willing to admit, not only through the influence of Sartre but also of Heidegger, which is nonetheless entirely absent from the references in the book and, as far as I know, from the theoretical reception of Camera Lucida. This serves to reveal, somewhat paradoxically, that the use of the phenomenological method was not only suitable for his personal mourning but also for transforming that personal experience into something universal. The problem of phenomenology is equally important for the third point, which would be inevitable here: the problem of semiology and semiotics. It is commonly accepted (more or less critically) that there is a clear divide between Barthes’s approach to photography before and in Camera Lucida. In other words, between Barthes the semiologist and Barthes the phenomenologist. Contrary to this stance, I will defend the hypothesis that there is, crucially, a continuation of Barthes’s thought on photography – which has always been beyond language and meaning – despite the change in method or the fact that Camera Lucida was somewhat of a work apart. This will also include the comparison of Camera Lucida with the index theory of photography and the critical analysis of some controversial issues in photography studies related to another semiotician, C. S. Peirce. Finally, this will help to demonstrate my hypothesis that photography pushed Barthes to the limits of semiotics, but also to the limits of phenomenology, and that these limits opened the possibility of a new notion of art. (shrink)