Pouruoi je n'ai écrit aucun de mes livres Book à 111 pages Ï Marcel bénabou

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Pourquoi je n'ai écrit aucun de mes livres Book à 111 pages Ï Marcel bénabou Ï ☄ [PDF / Epub] ☃ Pourquoi je n'ai écrit aucun de mes livres By Marcel Bénabou ✓ – Horticulturetrader.co.uk Marcel Bénabou is uick to acknowledge that his own difficulty in writing hasA full one accuses Bénabou knows the heroic joy of depriving critics of victims the kindness of sparing publishers decisions and the public charity of leaving room in bookstore displays W This made me laugh

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Marcel Bénabou is uick to acknowledge that his own difficulty in writing has plenty of company Words stick and syntax is stubborn meaning slips and synonyms cluster A blank page taunts and In the beginning a short sentence Only half a dozen words; simple words the first to come along or almost the first Assigned above all to mean that here ends a silenceOkay you got me That’s good advice “the first to come along or almost the first” And “here ends a silence” – that’s poetry Not that it’s anything new mind but Maurice Bénabou doesn’t make that claim I am of course a bit late in joining the cohort of those who make the book the subject of their books who make writing the theme of what they have writtenHence his paralysis – or near paralysis Hence his self uestioning Here is a man who it seems has read one of everything; who knows and anticipates and forsakes all the tricks writers use to make spells of their books; who at times believed himself incapable – because too critical – of such magic Starting from the certainty – or apparent certainty – of his calling he then proceeded by reduction deleting from his conception of his work everything that had precedent There wasn’t much left And ultimately all he can do is describe the book that could have been if all his restrictive parameters were fulfilled via another book – this book – that is inevitably a compromise Of all the obscure or in any event poorly elucidated facts of my past the most surprising for me is still this one why did I come to believe one day that I should write? A simple seemingly obvious uestion yet it took me a long time to feel the need to ask it of myself It was only after a first long series of aborted attempts that doubt as to the validity of my “calling” appeared and that I came to wonder about the origins of what until then I had considered a kind of determination independent of my will But after that uestioning commenced it did not cease; indeed at certain times the better part of my work consisted of responding to itAh Now though again such work is far from without precedent we’re getting somewhere Though Bénabou claims allegiance with Raymond Roussel this positions him for me with Beckett And to me it’s this struggle – to account for his writing to justify it to excuse it even – that gives his book depth Why I Have Not Written Any of My Books surprisingly and despite all clues to the contrary the familiar “playful” self reflexiveness the likewise playful direct address to the reader the tortured convolutions of many of its playful sentences is heavy not least because it appears to have been born from suffering Yet because of its author’s extreme distaste for such things it never becomes than periferally a sufferer’s memoir I after all is only a word like any other a simple tool – useful at times – with which it is not forbidden to play provided however that the game does not as sometimes happens lead to self idolatry No danger of that here Never despite Bénabou’s canny observation that even self mockery is a form of self veneration does he share than is strictly necessary to convey the central dilemma that drives the book – a dilemma which conseuently appears as close to universal as is possible It’s all familiar at least to this fellow self uestioner who also hasn’t written any or has written very few of his books at one point he even describes in a short paragraph his uasi Pessoan detour through multiple personas a phase which I’d been certain was hardly uniue to Pessoa but of which maybe only those who do not write or at any rate publish their books have the luxuryBénabou in other words is a fellow traveller an underachiever made good who beueathes us if nothing else the story of his Sysiphan labours Why I Have Not Written Any of My Books is a slim book or “non book” as Bénabou would have it but it’s significant because it takes us a step closer to a complete complex coherent archetype of heroic literary failure And call me crazy but in a world full to bursting with books I say we need a few non books With The Book of Disuiet with Beckett’s Watt with Robert Walser’s The Robber Why I Have Not Written Any of My Books stakes out boldly almost despite itself new territory Vast territory; all Bénabou’s done virtually is put a fence around it And while his non book appears to be just “writing about writing” it is actually – subtly deftly movingly – about something else entirely namely Bénabou the modest perfectionist who would rather he’d never had to write about himself at all

Marcel Bénabou × Pourquoi je n'ai écrit aucun de mes livres Epub

Pourquoi je n'ai écrit aucun de mes livresHy I Have Not Written Any of My Books Pouruoi je n’ai écrit aucun de mes livres provides both a respectful litany of writers’ fears and a dismissal of the alibis offered to excuse them This book explains a lot