August 2010

society

Here is a beautiful text by Maurice G. Dantec about the suicide of the novelist Nelly Arcan (1973-2009). The texts on the subject are too rare not to greet them. JLB

Nelly Arcan: the spark and fire extinguishers

suicide Nelly Arcan, and its probable causes in the world that created it.

There are two ways to succumb to nihilism. The first is to subject them to the slave and proud of it, instinctively adopting the posture of the rebel who goes hand in hand, and swallowed with delight all snakes as "post-modernity" will provide, provided it is made with ingredients "green" and "ethically presentable.

The second ends more tragically, it is the result of a losing battle against the foundation of any form of nihilism: the poor get nothing, to get rid of the Reaper who has taken possession of "life" but by throwing himself on his blade.

We must understand the paradoxical aspect of this desire thanatic, it is not because of any "suicidal impulse" as judges psychoanalytic attempt to make us believe. It is rather a constant voltage applied between the downward spiral of "disgust with life, just as a result of personal experiences of their links with social studies, and aspiration secret, invisible, indescribable, to genuine enlightenment.

We'll see how this desire is ultimately the final loop of the trap that relativism has woven into people's minds during the time, precisely, of past life on Earth by Nelly Arcan.

The first lie that Quebec society is post-modernized being developed is that it is absolutely for nothing in this "voluntary death" (that is indeed the right word), and especially that this is the "death of a human being", read: like all the others.

A "human being" as vouzémoâ, with its morbid impulses, his personal and professional problems, relationship and intimate, in short, that lie intended to remove any singularity at the fore of the suicide of a mystery writer. For it is as a writer Nelly Arcan has been "suicide" as rightly said, and lapidary perfection, some CalamitySandrine on a blog where I vainly attempted Quebec discuss, "has been killed by his own hand." But how the company that produced the necessary and sufficient conditions for the emergence and the disappearance of such a writer, would she have the guts to look straight in the face in the mirror of his constant betrayals?

The blog in question is as such quite representative of this trend, I would say that force of attraction towards the collective pop-psychoanalysis, humanism, new age, the egomaniac consensual and syncretism post modernist, we are here to shed a few tears, stating that sometimes we read nothing of it (what interest, in fact, being a writer?) and offended when they dare question the "Quebec Model," which is precisely the sole responsibility of the killing in question to delete the entire singularity as the mixing quickly as possible in the "democratic mold." Appendicule this sphere will be forged without the Internet is the need to write this text, just as he has served as a test in "real time" of various and varied forms taken by the neo-democratic conformism. For a blog calling themselves without laughing "Book resistant" was saying ... consistent with the time.

I suspect that the fate of a Canadian writer, as he said here, even Quebec and Francophone, will have little chance of upsetting the newsroom in Paris, though, precisely, Quebec postmodern 2000s, began to have popular among our politicians and intellectuals. She has had right, never fear, his obituary and memorial in a cultural page of one or more of our "national newspapers" only slightly less than here.

What matters in this case, the exact number of cliches and self-righteous critics who have been laid preformatted chain, by the assassins of the press or the Baronets of the Blogosphere, to conceal the fact that they, that format the structure of the floor to service the vacuum, which are most directly involved in the murder victim by proxy, by Nelly Arcan.

other words in his sacrifice.

It's strange, the best writers Quebec inevitably end up killing himself; Michel Tremblay bury them all.

Hubert Aquin, the last national literary genius, and nationalist of the first hour, committed suicide at the accession of the Parti Quebecois to power in 1976.

Nelly Arcan, a good generation later, killed himself while the relativistic post-modernism and multiculturalism is at its peak.

Do not look, it is the "chance".

Everyone agrees - at least - to want to erase the singularity of this "suicide", which is mostly unrelated to its existence as a writer. This demands that we read his books, for starters, effort seems out of range, the tearful commemorations are easier, and allow to evacuate as quickly as possible is essential.

What "counts" are the "objective conditions" of his suicide, that is what is common to all suicidal acts.

Everyone goes its pathetic belief, the previous "attempts", the inevitable "drives" of the pop-psychoanalytic circuitry, the "predisposition" diverse and varied, the "heartbreak", I pass rapidly over the pompous invocations of "chronic depression" or even "psychotic", to "financial problems", not to mention alcohol, sex, drugs, missing only rock'n'roll. Any

Quebec society, its media head, decided to resolve the basis for the uniqueness of a writer, his or her permanent game with the limits of its own destruction. She refused to understand the many contradictions who based his unique existence. It will therefore Nelly Arcan a tragic icon to tabloid "highbrow" and nobody will be asked the right questions: not why or how?

But by whom?

And how many (copies)?

Company "democratic" will once again asserts the rights of the mass, which will recognize in this portrait falsified, and will continue to sleep, waiting for the next orbital flight by Guy Laliberté and his red nose.

Nelly Arcan, like any true writer, not a single person, it was not only many, but it was both ANY PERSON person possible.

Those who have "committed suicide", his "teachers", the pharmacies of the Ombudsman, the (un) nihilistic generation that gave the day, everyone has always known what they were doing as the instrumentalizing " Queen of the Trashy autofiction "by imprisoning him in what she seemed to be including in his own eyes, it was certain to ensure it never becomes what it was, as Nietzsche 's probably would have said.

I do not write this text to extend a posthumous paean more, and no longer consider this to death with contempt agreed hacks Item 6 district, or I do not know what course of cultural studies, I will instead try to show how, simultaneously, Nelly Arcan was a true writer, that is a developing being, as well as the instrument not totally inadvertent "trap" in which she was imprisoned with aid "disinterested" media (including one who was hired), responding to public expectations of a fan of "transgressions autofictional" before, specifically, facing the wall of reality, to change direction, and no longer understood or followed by the critical view.

This young woman was the image of the time, she was his clone, and she knew it. His plastic surgery was the result of a profound loss of identity - related to new regulatory forms post-modernists - and these previous suicide attempts demonstrate, if necessary, it was outrageously horrible awareness that the EMPTY previous generation, that it has "learned" literature at the University (!), had left as a legacy.

Caught in this vise untenable, his "conscience" as a writer (ie, dual in nature) that could eventually implode. It is for this reason that I say unambiguously that it is the society which she was the paradoxical image (of) alive who did it disappear. As Hubert Aquin was "suicided" by the social liberalism independence of Quebec society of the 70s.

By his books of course, that one has a chance to understand the destiny of this young woman, eliminated by the society it was one of the most successful products as much as a pole unconscious resistance.

But it is less clear in content and in their latent content. In fact, reading a book Nelly Arcan is a strange apophatic experience, which is said to orbit around an empty ontological abyss that is the secret to every literary work, his secret, so its axis.

since the publication of his first novel, Hell, everything was in place for the great farce of World Culture, in a continual quest to eat idol, to ash if possible. Nelly Arcan's book is timely for freelancers in need of criticism "subversive", it happened fast wave "trash" and when "autofictions" in vogue, by Catherine Millet Christine Angot, focusing primarily on Kama Sutra positions to be adopted with such and such a successful writer or editor in the backseat of a car rental.

Better yet, she offered to small and Jansenists of the web, s'autobombardant "defenders of literature", hastened to assimilate with the new figures "feminine" writing that "transgressive," which n is nothing other than the appropriate range Phantasmal bourgeois mores of our time sexually "liberated".

Much has been said about this book but everyone agreed to see "a cry of hatred against the male, coupled with self-hatred and deep despair . Nobody seemed to pay attention to the tension I mentioned earlier, which was born of a fourth term. This term is writing. This was all just trying to resist hatred and despair, ie to nihilism, and this tension was emerging in the writing I said, so the thought in motion, but we do was still in the first seconds post-natal, it was already Nelly Arcan to reclaim his work and his destiny as a writer, coveted by all the gear head of culture and communication.

With the release of his second novel, Mad, the process digestion by the stomach of the monster cross cultural qualitative threshold. This book presents as fact in a light surgical everything the first was thrown into chaos electricity at night. Yet, already, Nelly Arcan knew playing a crossover paradox: the life of an escort girl is ultimately more fatal "settled" than that of a young woman in search of beauty and a prey to the terrifying conformism " normal society ", in which the only escape is the pathos, when the only real disease is precisely the company capable of manufacturing one she had crossed in the first novel. Some "critical "I think had he seen this mysterious bond, and so visible between the two books. The autofiction seemed to break free from its matrix systems, some even spoke of "poetry", small subsidized teachers granted him a good mark in mastering the French language, it boasted a "narrative" over built, but it was obviously more confused with what she thought, to identify with the collective image / objective as it is manufactured by itself, as well as the image that the socius subjectivized him referred, with the aim of to frame its literature in the emerging patterns of Critical contemporary, which would only have to charge in advance of its sausages academic cliches.

As usual, it lacked the essential, ie the birth of a tragedy.

Now the tension by writing became more sensitive, something resisted the narrative itself, and especially resisted the writer herself. In fact something resisted from within his own writing.

This could only lead to a crisis - krisis, change - ie a genuine ontological catastrophe, which is the ineffable moment when the writer discovered a free.

The most dangerous time for any human being, especially when it was subject to the verb.

The Truth will set us free, we learn the Scriptures, for this reason that the Truth is not. It is not only the nodal point of all the constraints of the created world, but it is also the light that is transformed and embodied, to a state of extreme destitution.

Truth lies at the bottom of a cell, tortured or bleeds on a cross, if illuminating because it takes upon itself all the darkness of the world. If we can offer freedom thanks to the sacrifice she has made of his own.

Literature is a distant reflection of this spark paradoxical write is not to express something from itself, but to print on this so all that Cosmos is able to offer and inventing every moment.

The writer is not a speaker, except one who barks his masters, the writer is a machine for recording, decoding, a machine "-static" universe which sucks up to her, Such a "black box" rather than directing his mind to ecstasy fusional with the outside.

At this stage of hostilities between the writer Nelly Arcan and the company that designed it, the disjunction is already operating, although each antagonist has not yet fully aware. While the ombudsman's General and Democratic flock who reads agree to praise the aspect of "disturbing", "intimate", "vintage" and "violent" in his first two novels, with "despair" that goes , Nelly Arcan, in an interview with the weekly SEE, hints at the nature of the shock which I spoke a little higher, the impact left by the untimely intrusion of literature at Heart "self" that she came to destroy. For the first time since his appearance on the "literary scene", Nelly Arcan lets slip some crucial words that show she has already understood that all poetry, all literature and by extension, must be impersonal, like Georg knew Trakl:

When I write I'm in a state of great neutrality. I am not affected by what I write. I am easily affected by life, things that happen to me, but in writing, there is a great distance moved. I work a lot rhythm, phrases, so that everything is fluid. First I want to serve the meaning of the text, not a truth that would be personal.

Nobody took note of the rupture is already consumed. No one, moreover, would never admit this fact, until the final moments of the conspiracy was determined to fools repeat his mantra and trying, often successfully, the writer of caging in a number or another Magic Circus of its culture.

However, just to Nelly Arcan than sixty pages to the final vitrified amorphous journalistic criticism, already plunged into his coma generational, does not realize she had being irradiated by a quietly "object" that she could understand, an "object" that would make blind or require him to sew his eyelids.

This "object" was a child. A child with mirrors.

There's nothing more dangerous than a mirror.

Otherwise a child.

Presented as a "tale", accompanied by illustrations by increasingly dark and strange in the pages of a new format, this text seemed to have been designed, consciously or not does not matter, to take back the features of the "critical" with Nelly Arcan had probably detected the extreme danger, much higher than the underworld that she had previously attended in the red light district.

This book was without doubt a form of entrapment, a literary ploy back in the face of small tacticians of everyday life. The thematic

Nelly Arcan it showed this time with a totally assumed distance, impersonality ontological factor became dazzling narrative where the issue of falsification of identity of the body "plastic" was emerging as the ratio meaning / form.

It lives most of the time a story about the "anorexia," the issues raised by "the use of cosmetic surgery," or the "media exposure" (the journalists can not even speak properly of their business), we certainly did noted the problems of "identity" that the writer seemed to "suffer" and "revealed" through his writing, that is exactly the opposite than what was exactly the same handwriting in the process of producing, including cons the will of the writer who was wearing it. What

Nelly Arcan could not know at the time that he was impossible to journalistic criticism Quebec recant. It had made her much more than "simple" writer (it is never enough to write, for pedants), it was crowned Empress of the Quebec literary scene, queen of modernity autofictional it Paris was impressed, it was published by Seuil, she was promised an international success, it would have been unpatriotic, and especially contrary to its best interests, to express any opinion really negative about it.

Some, micro-exceptions to the mega-rule made a little nose at the abandonment of what had led to the initial success of the author, but we can say without risk of being wrong that they were the docile instruments of the second jaw of the trap socio- media, they gave credit (almost) free to all others and most importantly, they surreptitiously opened the door to misunderstanding assumed as such.

Whether we have entered the specific dimension of this book did not matter, it should continue at all costs this pathetic comedy of the small bourgeoisie, which was to praise (or criticize) the writer not for her but for ½ WORKING the character public that they had made it and on which so many people had invested.

This book, however, marked a time of complete failure. A

autofiction, Nelly Arcan substituted a story multiforme, the limits of fantasy, in which the invisible was taking shape and where, strangely, the theme of the mirror, or rather mirrors, maze-like game, and trap identity occupied a central place.

fiction, only real vehicle for literature, is freed from his "self", reflexive and enfolding them, this "self" whose only purpose than to end destroyed by the writing, imagination was no longer restrained by the will to stick to the so-called "reality" and therefore allowed to mix with mysterious territories where technologies cosmetic body-object with the depths drilled conversed at Heart of the soul of the writer.

A spark began to flicker in earnest in the cell, a ray of light took her autonomy at Heart machinery human socioprogrammée, an outbreak of fire seemed to be able to bypass for good and melt plastic shell that still separated the "individual" Nelly Arcan phase of "reunification", the ultimate step alchemical quest, that of every human being who makes himself available to the verb.

was also the time that nihilism is preferred.

Death could just wait, it would not be long now.

The company singled-culture was ready to make the disappearance of the writer's chronicle of an announced suicide, the obituary was already in everyone's head.

She could avoid that part of Nelly Arcan.

It would suffice if the sky opens.

The summit of a concrete building, open. City 'human' perceived from the zenith of perfect impersonality. A love triangle at once tragic and terribly "mundane". Betrayal as a process of survival, friendship as stock exchanges between individuals plastics metamorphic. The look of the other considered intrusive surgery. Self-hatred by itself crystallized angry "twice" to "me", now clearly identified as a target. Contempt for men radically with his female equivalent, more vengeance and its scapegoats, but justice in all its terrifying relentlessness and universal, violence of writing now distributed to all that is called humanity, a cold rage just yet apparent to the kings of Communication and Miss-Culture of Modernity. General cosmetics as universal system of alternative ontologies, feelings exacerbated annihilated so until the ultra-violence. The stormy sky like a huge wound that encompasses the world and the opening paradoxically imprisons those who live in his natural power dome.

Unity of place, time unit, unit of action.

Who could have thought for a moment that the act of absolute freedom Nelly Arcan would take the form of trinomial multicentenaire pure classical prose?

Not those, anyway, had to swallow the pill, so to speak, while maintaining a semblance of maintenance and correction to the table of guests. Some went so far

whispering words likely to evoke, indirectly of course, the notion of "treason" or even "ingratitude", without understanding (how could they?) That the "function" of a writer if there is one, it is precisely this world of betrayal and not having absolutely nothing to anyone.

The bravest of them spoke of "abandonment" made some even vaguely hint of a "regression" or even worse, a "traditionally built" many agreed to find the book "less interesting" and "less innovative" than its predecessors.

The title was already a program. He left little doubt about the direction taken by the writer. It was time to bring it down to more reasonable literary ambitions.

It was time to remind him why and by whom it was manufactured.

It was time to remind him that no spark of freedom can resist power fireproof fire extinguishers Culture.

It was time to remind him that this is not the immutability of silence that can condemn a writer, but the incessant chatter of insignificance.

The surest way so he can not escape it is a frightening simplicity: it is enough to convince him to join the club of those uttering them, taking advantage of this period doubt instilled by the company itself. Offer him a "space" in a newspaper or another is one of the methods most likely encountered by mackerel nihilism literate.

Soon after the appearance of open sky, while pursuing his journalistic criticism, hesitation waltz around the "new Nelly Arcan," the weekly free-MONTREAL HERE managed to lure him into his columns even hell and heaven finally offered turned irresistibly into a new prison cell, that of humanitarian press clichés, that freelancers Guevara to the short week, that of "transgressive" phantasy geometry variable, who liked Nelly Arcan, but in dry ice preconceptions. Thus

Nelly Arcan became a columnist for a common socio-cultural machinery of the soft nihilism even though the literary skies had finally opened in the storm of the ontological krisis, had swallowed the world, and enabled all the identities of the person to meet while remaining disjoint short, when it became a full-fledged writer.

I certainly would not say here that wanted his death in the strict sense, a conscious conspiracy determined his actions, but we did everything ("they" amorphous and venomous anonymous collective social ) so that this desire thanatic which I began to return to the forefront by the same route that opened on hope. Agency Program Dollar General is neither cruel nor it does not pursue any specific interest, it is the nature of the Man of the Fall, it is just the metaphor of the present mass of humanity and all means at its disposal to silence any singularity emerging.

Nelly Arcan could become a free agent. And she might know. One can understand the haste to put into a journalist.

We understand why we wanted so it remains in the death camp.

Maurice G. Dantec, October 10, 2009.

SOURCE: http://www.surlering.com

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