March 22, 2009 § Leave a comment
Now reading: Against Nature, by J.-K. Huysmans.
This is regarded as the key text of the Decadent movement which is best known by the works of Oscar Wilde. It is quite easily the most foppish book I’ve ever read: Literature Dandified. So far, at least, it is quite persistent in its celebration of “taste,” its abhorrence of the mob, and its ugly streak of misogyny.
There are manifestos strewn here and there throughout the first four chapters, but the root of them all seems to be this, from chapter two:
The main thing is to know how to set about it, to be able to concentrate your attention on a single detail, to forget yourself sufficiently to bring about the desired hallucination and so substitute the vision of a reality for the reality itself.
As a matter of fact, artifice was considered by Des Esseintes to be the distinctive mark of human genius.
Nature, he used to say, has had her day; she has finally and utterly exhausted the patience of sensitive observers by the revolting uniformity of her landscapes and skyscapes….
So our “hero,” Des Esseintes, decides to isolate himself in a villa on a hill outside of Paris. He spends his time alone, keeping vampire hours, contemplating the furnishings he’s chosen, his art collection, his book collection (and his walls are bound like books, in “orange morocco”), his perverse fancies and desires. It’s amazing how much it reminds me of surrealism, and both Huysmans and Des Esseintes seem to be longing for just such a movement.
For instance, chapter four is devoted to Des Esseintes’ attempt to bring out “the silvery glints running across the weft of the wool” of an Oriental rug, by placing on it a “huge tortoise.” However, the brown of the shell does not have the effect he anticipated — so he has it gilt. Even this gilt does not prove to be enough, however, so he has a design of precious stones set onto the shell, simulating a Japanese drawing of flowers. Leading to the image of an aesthetic turtle lumbering across a gorgeous rug. (The turtle dies, of course: “it had not been able to bear the dazzling luxury imposed upon it.”)
This incident reminds me of nothing so much as Raymond Roussel: there are similar set pieces in Impressions of Africa. It also reminds me of some of the OuLiPo writers, Harry Mathews especially, and Perec. It’s also an extended example of the dominant metaphoric motif in the book: things from nature — insects, plants, weather — are compared to items in Des Esseintes’ artificial world, and, by the alchemy of metaphor, somehow transformed into them.
I love this stuff: so far, Against Nature is mostly description, metaphor, incident for the sake of striking image, and pure belletristic language. There have been chapters devoted to an alternate history of Latin literature and linguistics, the aforementioned turtle chapter, and an ekphrastic chapter on two artworks by Gustave Moreau featuring Salome.
However, it is amazing how the book disregards both any concern about money and any feeling for people — in general, really, but especially those without taste, which really seems to be everyone but Des Esseintes. There seems to be a pull back towards feudalism and a push forward towards fascism in the work. Acting on the desire to be left alone, the hermetic, Decadent ideal, leads to those who would get into everyone’s business running the world.