By Sellers, Susan; Cixous, Hélène
This can be the 1st actually consultant choice of texts through Helene Cixous. The giant items diversity commonly throughout her complete oeuvre, and comprise essays, works of fiction, lectures and drama. prepared helpfully in chronological order, the extracts span two decades of highbrow inspiration and exhibit essentially the advance of 1 of the main inventive and amazing minds of the 20th century. The editor's introductions to every piece may be specifically priceless to readers new to the writings of Helene Cixous. Read more...
summary: this can be the 1st actually consultant collection of texts via Helene Cixous. The big items variety extensively throughout her complete oeuvre, and comprise essays, works of fiction, lectures and drama. prepared helpfully in chronological order, the extracts span two decades of highbrow concept and exhibit sincerely the improvement of 1 of the main inventive and really good minds of the 20 th century. The editor's introductions to every piece can be specially worthy to readers new to the writings of Helene Cixous
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Extra info for The Hélène Cixous reader
She bumps into me, hangs on to my waist with an enormous arm which goes twice around me, and she takes advantage of the horror that paralyzes me by tearing off a piece of my royal king-blue queen-blue dress with her powerful hand. INSIDE 23 I lower my eyes drowned in tears of fear, and I see feebly quivering through the rent in the blue space of my betrothal an old, white, misshapen thigh floating in skin too big for it. It is me tomorrow and I’m already thirty and could be sixty in my young girl’s dress, and I sit down on the granite terrace of the last house.
A bride, I am young and I wait for the night. The night is at the other end of the city, camped out on the terrace of the last house where my father is waiting for me. I hurry. I am dressed in my royal king-blue queen-blue dress, the most beautiful of all, the one that holds me tightly like his arms. Because there wasn’t enough material, my mother cut a bodice that flattens my breasts, but my skirt is full enough for running. I run through the scalding city toward the sweet waters of my father-spouse.
These artists of deconstruction know about debts and about gifts: on the stages where they put them into play, repression and negativity run the road to real ruin. The logic of the gift-that-takes tips over; another logic predicts an eroticism without injury. The conjugal grammar is dislocated. The new desire soars out. I have always loved desire. Certainly not the desire which believes itself to be determined according to a lack which it raises up and upon which it depends, so much so that it cannot get over it.