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Page 33
I would now like to tell you that I’m worried about your health. I’m sure that you don’t get enough rest; you must take a two-month rest in a rest home. I myself was in a sanatorium (which is not the same thing) and I assure you that only there can one rest, because there is no effective rest without the methodical, pragmatic awareness one has of it there. I must soliloquize a bit here to defend the law of health.
I return to Paris in two days and I leave again for Baltimore on October 2.102 I hope to be able to see you in that interval, if it isn’t too tiring for you. If you have the opportunity, try to call me.
Please, take care of yourself. And again, a big thank you.
Your friend,
R. Barthes
Julia Kristeva to Roland Barthes (BNF)
Friday, [1977]
I’m making an effort to tear myself from my cares (now augmented with a new “love object” referred to proudly—God knows why—as “maternal”)103 and from my only reading—the only reading in which I truly rediscover myself—of Fragments, to tell you how happy I am to read your text. Perhaps because it’s the only thing, right now, that wrests me from exile, this grief of the imaginary, and grounds me in what is very much your own—neither a surge of passionate delirium, nor the terra incognita of neutral contact, but a dream of after-sleep, a morning dream, already light, where I find my way in strangeness but also in delight.
It’s been more than ten years (already!) that I’ve been reading you, and finally always this way, at each departure, and afterward—a gift of happiness in lightning flashes.
Love to you with all my heart.
Julia
7. With Pierre Guyotat
The ties between Roland Barthes and Pierre Guyotat are inseparable from the event of the publication of Éden, Éden, Éden by Gallimard in 1970, and the literary, aesthetic, and intellectual impact that its appearance produced. Beyond the question of this book’s censure (it could not be publicly displayed in bookstores despite the triple preface meant to protect it, by Roland Barthes, Michel Leiris, and Philippe Sollers), in Barthes’s eyes, the real event is what he specifies in his letter from September 13, 1969, even more clearly than in his public text, that is, the possibility of a literary revolution free of the “alibis” that had previously accompanied earlier ruptures, and notably alibis of the “fault” that transgressions always assume: “nothing remains but desire and language,” he writes in his letter as in his preface.104
Roland Barthes to Pierre Guyotat (BNF)
September 13, 1969
Dear Guyotat,
Thank you for wanting to have your manuscript sent to me.105 I was delighted by it. That word will surprise you but it expresses the contentment and relief that I feel in experiencing a free text: free of any subject, any object, or any symbol, produced as a vital substance, still unknown, already dreamed, new and nevertheless immediately accessible, with all the flavor and infinitude of language, beautiful in its unique matter, in its unique sentence, and beautiful in the repetition of that sentence. It seems to me that your text constitutes a kind of thrust, a historic shock: you inherit a whole previous action, from de Sade to Genet, from Mallarmé to Artaud, you shift it, you purge it of its age’s alibis. There is no longer either Account or Fault (no doubt it’s the same thing); nothing remains but desire and language, not one canceling the other, but placed in a reciprocal, indissoluble metonymy, in such a way that your text condemns all the attempts at censure that would be (will be) brought against it, censuring at the same time sex and language, being immediately excessive, that is to say, revealing the essence of censure. This is to tell you how much, and with what strength and certitude, I support the publication of your manuscript; all critical work will be advanced by it. It is also to tell that I will defend it as best I can and I’m sure I will not be the only one. Your text has such power of inscription, it is so unclassifiable and indubitable that it will act both as appeal and as landmark, a very rare combination—not to be missed!
Please keep me updated as to the fate of this text, its adventures, and let me express my feelings of warm admiration.
Roland Barthes
* * *
November 23, 1969
Here is my short text.106 I hope that it’s acceptable (I’m afraid that in switching from “you” to “he,” from letter to text, from Guyotat as addressee to author/referent, I made the admiration I have for your text less apparent). Keep me posted about its publication. I’m very happy to have met you, yours
R. Barthes
11, rue Pierre-Sémard
Rabat
Pierre Guyotat to Roland Barthes (BNF)
December 18, 1971
Dear friend,
I did receive your book: Sade, Fourier, Loyola; I thank you. I in turn admire this magnificent work that you have been producing for twenty years and that summarizes, as exactly, as naturally as possible, all the historical phases (in History and in the history of a single man) of the production of literature. There is no one but you so attuned to writing, to writing alone; also you bring up to date—in a movement of words that now marks a complete line of the “literary” production of this time—the most “intimate” processes of the work, and “greater still,” the larger thrust long called “inspiration.”
Let me express here once again my admiration and my very faithful friendship.
Pierre Guyotat
Roland Barthes to Pierre Guyotat (BNF)
May 13, 1973
Dear friend,
Excuse me for leaving immediately after the play last night without finding you to thank you.107 My friend André Téchiné was frozen stiff and I was worried about him. I deeply share François Wahl’s opinion: you’ve gone very far, as far as possible, with absolute rightness: a wonderful text, indisputable (and clear) principle, memorable (haunting) show, astounding performance by the actors. My only reservation involves two important points of dramatic art: when two actors speak at the same time, the text isn’t audible and from then on everything collapses—because the phonatory clarity of the signifier is vital, much more so even than with a so-called “realistic” text. For example, Kuki’s solo toward the end is wonderful, almost tender.108 Everything relies, as you know, on understanding/hearing (not on hearing/understanding); the text must be heard and that isn’t the case, at least not for long. The second point is that the actors, regardless of their performance, don’t speak the text as they must; they don’t seem to believe what they’re saying. They are “theatrically” passionate; they act as if they naturally possess a meaning we lack. They undermine the exposed unconscious through the expressiveness of passion, but the unconscious, as you know, is neither soul nor passion. I imagined a somewhat Asian or Gregorian “diction” (actio as Ancient Rhetoric said). That isn’t their fault, of course; there would have to be a whole tradition behind them, an ancestral matrix—and we’re back to the alienation of our civilization. That said, thank you to them, to Kuki for his entrance, his exit, and his solo, and thanks to you as well.
Your friend,
R. Barthes
8. With Jacques Derrida
There is nothing better than Jacques Derrida’s (1930–2004) homage to Barthes—“Les Morts de Roland Barthes”—for capturing their relationship, a relationship without fanfare or indiscretion, in the image of what united them: writing.109 Writing as a practice, but also a word present at the heart of their respective first books, Le Degré zéro de l’écriture and L’Écriture et la Difference, which Derrida would not have been able to privilege as its own category without Barthes’s earlier works, even beyond any reference to the thing itself.110 In his homage, Jacques Derrida doesn’t limit himself to Roland Barthes’s “deaths,” memory, the mother, and the person of Barthes himself; he also talks about the importance of concepts, for example, those of studium and punctum that he finds in La Chambre clair. The first mention of Jacques Derrida’s name in Barthes’s diaries appeared March 2, 1964, the date of a dinner with Philippe Sollers and G�
�rard Genette. Afterward, it seems that Paule Thévenin played a large role in their meetings. In any case, Barthes was much impressed by Derrida’s early works, where their shared thinking made for deep connections.
Jacques Derrida to Roland Barthes
March 26, 1966
Dear friend,
Warm thanks for having sent me—and above all having written—Critique et vérité. This text that I’ve just read with joy—and a kind of jubilation—goes far beyond the polemical “circumstances.” You haven’t only retorted, you have provided a rigorous justification to all those “well-born” minds who were on your side. You have woven or reconstituted the theoretic network of their complicity. In that way as well, this essay is historic.
Thanks again. In warm friendship,
Jacques Derrida
Roland Barthes to Jacques Derrida (IMEC)
Johns Hopkins University
Baltimore, Maryland, November 20, 1967
Dear friend,
I am very late in answering your letter, and that already tells you “in a roundabout way” that I’m as disorganized here as in Paris. The fault is not with Johns Hopkins (to reassure you completely about the utmost freedom—the total freedom one has here) but with me, letting myself be dragged into lectures here and there, getting to see a bit of the country all the same; thus I spend my time reworking courses as lectures, articles as courses, etc.
I hear that you’ve agreed to come here next year (Girard told me).111 Students are already looking forward to meeting you. I’ll tell you about “my” America (but you already know it); in my eyes, there is just one single merit here that justifies the trip: the peace to work. I say that with longing because I haven’t achieved it; but being surrounded by those you love, not being alone, you will manage it much better than I have.
There it is. I don’t want to get started on the written account of my American “madness.” I would risk being unjust (because in short I am against, basically), and in person that will be less serious!
I return in January, I don’t know exactly when, looking forward to seeing you all again.
With warmest wishes to you,
R. Barthes
A thousand times yes regarding the Japanese fellow, whom I answered; I know him, he’s splendid.
And thanks, an immense thanks for La Grammatologie.112 Here, it’s like a book from Galileo in the land of the Inquisition, or more simply, a civilized book amid barbarism!
Jacques Derrida to Roland Barthes (BNF)
March 22, 1970
Dear friend,
I very simply want to express my gratitude and admiration for S/Z. And with regard to no other text do I now find myself as absolutely in agreement, engaged. Everything in the arrangement of the page, in the production, should constitute what would be called, in the old code, a model, or a method, or an exemplary reference. In any case, to design, to multiply, to “free” a new space for reading and writing: I’m sure that S/Z does this and will do so for a long time to come.
Until soon, I hope,
Faithfully, your friend,
Jacques Derrida
* * *
Nice, March 30, 1972
Dear friend,
I just received Les Lettres françaises.113 May I very simply offer you an immense thank you? And gratitude, which truly I’ve felt for a very long time (today more than ever, as you know), for your supreme and generous open-mindedness? Even before I begin to write, it is and always has been there, assisting me like an irreplaceable critical resource, but also as one of those most complicit looks, whose severity limits nothing, but on the contrary, allows, encourages writing, play. That tie, which thus proceeds from that solitude of which you speak, is in the work, and yes, so familiar, secret, discrete that—for my part—it has never become the object of discourse. That isn’t right, and I blame myself, as I blame myself for Blanchot, the only one, no doubt, with whom I share a similar relationship of closeness, gratitude, and complicity, and to whom I can now say this, despite endless discourse, in a new and confident way.
I am very often tempted, as today, to speak to you about yourself at length. But what could I tell you that you don’t already know? And I never dare retain you.
Be certain in any case of my faithful and deep friendship.
Jacques Derrida
9. With Maurice Pinguet
Maurice Pinguet (1929–91) played a fundamental role in the interest Japan prompted in the French intellectual world. He spent a large part of his life in Japan, teaching at the University of Tokyo or directing the Institut Franco-Japonais (1963–68), and he wrote a major book that is now a classic, La Mort volontaire au Japon (Gallimard, 1984). A close friend of Michel Foucault, whom he also brought to Japan, he was Roland Barthes’s initiator and guide in his discovery of the “empire of signs,” so that the book by the same title was naturally dedicated to him. Pinguet wrote two texts on Barthes, both of them shortly after his death, “Le Texte Japon,”114 and “Aspects de Roland Barthes,”115 rediscovered by Michaël Ferrier. Thanks to Ferrier, we know that Barthes and Pinguet met in 1957, and Pinguet captures Barthes very well in this brief note recalling him in Tokyo: “He would leave to take long walks alone, aimlessly. He would wander about the city like ‘the man of the throngs’ of whom Baudelaire spoke.”
Roland Barthes to Maurice Pinguet (IMEC)
Paris. Thursday, June 9, [1966]
My dear Maurice,
My first break, after a sad and busy week, to reconnect with you.116 I arrived in Paris yesterday, coming from Pesaro and Turin, without physical mishap, but morally I’m a bit depleted; ah well, that was expected.117 I am in mourning for Japan, that feeling of distant separation from what one loves, so close basically to pure existentiality, to the point that certain languages, like Romanian or Portuguese, merge into a single word (fado), the idea of nostalgic separation and that of fate (fatum).118 My flight went without incident, although long and enervating, and I was plunged immediately, thanks to Air France, into an unbearable French bath. I’ve been very sad throughout this return. Even in Italy, everything seemed to me difficult to bear except the country itself, which was radiant with sunshine and roses; the people were kind, of course (much more so than the French), but so physically coarse. Briefly, in a word, the Japanese enchantment continues; and of course, I keep myself going only by thinking of returning to your country. What made me put up with Pesaro was that I earned a few liras there, which immediately became the start of my Japanese stash.119 I already have almost a third of a round-trip ticket, but God knows how long it’ll take me to come up with the rest! Moreover, all that is excellent ethically: desiring one thing passionately puts others things one doesn’t desire back in place. I’m in the process of reconsidering all my policies regarding articles and lectures in view of the money they could add to my stash, and that’s basically very healthy. Japan is going to make me thrifty. The objects that I brought back are helping me very much; some have made those around me very happy; others are gradually finding their places in my room. I have before me the samurai portrait of the fine actor Kazuo Funaki120 (think of my enlargement, a little shop in Yurakucho),121 and I am returning, slowly, to the idea of a text on the Japanese face122—that is to say, step by step, on Japan. If I manage to do that, it will be dedicated to you. I’ve also thought many times of little Yuichi; some of his expressions are unforgettable.123 I think about and see again many of the things that I did, that I saw over there; the important thing now is to “dialecticize,” as they used to say fifteen years ago, that investment as a way of retaining it without neuroticizing it. I think that the work will help there; it’s basically the only thing I find bearable here. I saw François again, which was deeply comforting, because he never contradicts the Japan in me, as you know.124 Before settling down to work (I have a pile of things to catch up on), I’m going to write a certain number of letters for Japan, as we talked about; I don’t want to lose the intellectual contacts you suggested. I’m also thinking of
having as peaceful a summer as possible, even canceling some travel plans, among them Warsaw. In any case, Maurice, keep me posted about your return, so that I don’t miss you on your way through Paris; I will really need to talk to you. I have still not seen anyone; I don’t know what either Robert or Michel are doing.125 Dear Maurice, you must give my great and faithful love to all of Tokyo, to André,126 Hashimoto-san, Nikko-san,127 and on my behalf, to all the Yuichis of Japan, all the Mikatas, and all the students.128
Your friend,
Roland
In fact, I am very sad.
* * *
Paris, June 20, 1966
My dear Maurice,
Your report gratified and touched me; it had an overall effect on Cultural Relations, where my standing right now is very high, thanks to you. And your second letter, received this morning, moved me and did me very much good. In the two weeks since my return I’ve been quite depressed. Japan, as we have said, constitutes a terrible mirror for Western civilization; going for walks along Saint-Germain-des-Prés these hot evenings is truly to confront collective hysteria: no thoughtfulness on faces, nothing but a will to appear insane. Seeing these boys in disguise, I never stop thinking of the race of young Japanese. First contacts upon returning have been difficult; mixed up with that (Japan having nothing to do with it, the West either) is the onslaught of responsibilities of all kinds, articles, procedures, paperwork, intellectual problems, all overdue work that I can’t really manage to catch up on. Too many things to do gives me a sort of ennui, because then I can’t make out very well the meaning of my work; it’s an old problem, heightened in the last few years. Here again, Japan only helped to crystallize this need for another dimension in daily work, the necessity of balancing intellectual hypertrophy with a true art of living. Moreover, I have reflected many times on this notion of the art of living, and if I lived a bit in Japan, I would try to draw something from it. What has, if not diverted, at least occupied me for the last two weeks is that I have kept my resolve to resume contact with Japan; I do a little Japanese each day in the conversation book (while awaiting something more serious). I’m not under any illusions, but at least linguistically that’s teaching me something—and it’s fascinating. I’m also doing a bit of calligraphy everyday following the Vaccari that I bought.129 It’s very relaxing (but also diabolical). I’m taking notes for that text on Japan that you were kind to remind me about and that I haven’t forgotten, but I don’t want to go too quickly, because writing is tricky, and doing it to create an effect is, at least for me, very difficult, whereas, by intellectualizing, I look like I’m destroying what I love (that’s what happened with my Michelet). I’m also busy with the Yamamouchi grant, in a bad way, a bit of a crank, but what do you want of the Japanese! Finally and most importantly, I’m thinking about my next trip; paradoxically, things are falling into place almost too well, or too quickly. I’m going to the USA for a few days in October.130 And, in all probability, I’m going to earn enough there for my Japanese travel and stay; the kitty filled in one fell swoop. What’s more, it wouldn’t be unreasonable—financially—to add this Japanese trip onto the American trip, because going around the world is no more expensive than Paris-Tokyo and back, and Paris-New York and back is already paid for.131 The real problem is the date; in September-October, Robert will be there, and I don’t dare cut into his trip too much with my presence, even incognito.132 And in November my seminar starts again. All that is swimming around in my head, but reasonably so; in any case, there’s no hurry, and I would love to talk with you. I would like to talk to you about the way I’m envisioning my next stay (whenever it happens) (a little like an experience of “immersion”). I would like to explore with you the possibilities—even vague ones—for a teaching position of two or three years in Japan (a temporary break that I’ve already thought of with regard to Morocco). Also, dear Maurice, I’m asking you to let me know as soon as you arrive in France. I will be in Urt early July, but you know that I can return to Paris easily and often from there, and I want very much to see you (I have in fact given up talking about Japan with my friends). Can you try calling me in Paris (Danton 95–85) and if I’m not there, writing to me in Urt, giving me some way to meet you? I hope this note reaches you before your departure; in which case give all my love to Hashimoto-san (whose “characters” really touched me) and André. For you, my dear Maurice, my strong and faithful affection.