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Fiction

To end GOD’S JUDGEMENT

Antonin Artaud, Stephen Barber (ed.)

Radio Works: 1946–48

Everything must be arranged to a hair in a fulminating order.

Artaud’s work is performative in the sense that it never simply describes, but actively produces the events it enacts. As Austin characterises performative language, ‘the issuing of the utterance is the performing of an action’.3 Artaud’s work, performed correctly, is magical, finding its power in ritualistic chanting. Intonation is key to this, recalling what he wrote about metaphysical language in The Theatre and its Double, where the aim is ‘to deal with intonations in an absolutely concrete manner, restoring their...

radio
literature

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Stephen Barber

Twenty-four hours in state of unconsciousness

Now this spectral city will become the site for execrations and lamentations, now time itself will disintegrate and void itself… ABO

Pierre Guyotat

“This text was written at the end of 1962, after my return from Algeria. For me the text is the matrix for Tombeau pour cinq cent mille soldats.” P.G. OPEN
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Diane Williams

How about some string?

I said “Would you like a rope? You know that haul you have is not secured properly.” ABO DE

Maël Renouard

On Memory Atrophy

How can we remember the way we used to remember? OPEN
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Current Texts

A. L. Kennedy

Upending meanings and rewriting sanity

When it all burns you’ll know – a writer was there at the first…

ABO DE FR

Current Texts

Kim Gordon

It was another 75° day in LA.

Where do you go when you disappear?

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Magazine Online

New releases

Maaza Mengiste: Of Interest to the General Public

Autofiction—Metafiction

Monograph

« Le rire est la seule chose qui reste après la catastrophe. »

Comme toute autobiographie qui se respecte, celle-ci fait de la naissance de son protagoniste un mythe fondateur : « Riez, non pas de joie comme si vous aviez entendu quelque chose de drôle, mais pour relâcher la tension abdominale », recommande un médecin mélancolique à la mère du futur George...

George Tabori

Autodafé

Monograph

»Es gibt nichts zu erzählen!«

»›Es gibt nichts zu erzählen‹, sagte meine Mutter, und es ist dieses Nichts, an dem ich mich abarbeite.«

Chantal Akerman

Meine Mutter lacht

Monograph

»Die am weitesten zurückliegende Vergangenheit hat die größte Sprengkraft. Jede intensive Erinnerung grenzt an Gewalt.«

»Wenn man ein Buch öffnet, weiß man nicht, wohin man geht. Man lässt sich führen in Zeiten, an Orte, zu Gefühlen, mit denen man sich sonst nicht ohne weiteres eingelassen hätte. Überhaupt sind unsere Leben Irrpfade, die wir auf verschiedene Weisen rekapitulieren – je nachdem, zu welcher Zeit und mit...

Pascal Quignard

Die wandernden Schatten

Monograph

Das Protokoll einer im Überleben verlorenen Kindheit

Der Vater, Rabbiner in der Rue Ordener in Paris, der von der Gestapo abgeholt und in Auschwitz ermordet wird; die Mutter, der es gelingt, sich und die sechs Kinder an verschiedenen Orten versteckt zu halten; Sarah, die sich weigert, anderes zu sich zu nehmen als koscheres Essen, die die rettende...

Sarah Kofman

Rue Ordener, Rue Labat

Topics

Halluzinatorische Chroniken New Yorks
Reportagen, Fiktionen, Wirklichkeiten der Hauptstadt des 20. Jahrhunderts
- reportage
- noir fiction
- USA
- atomic age
- New York

Current Texts

I.V. Nuss

Pregnancy is the weirdest condition

The seahorse is the chosen metaphor for pregnant trans men

ABO DE

motherhood
homosexuality
contemporary literature

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Raphaëlle Milone

He would say “Never work!”

Old-school publisher, avant-garde dandy, undisputed expert on the global history of Dada: Raphaëlle Milone paints an intimate but unsparing portrait of a man who belonged perhaps to a dying breed but is still remembered vividly.

ABO FR

Current Texts

Dodie Bellamy

A stupid tweet by a nobody, meant as a parody, somehow goes viral and the internet offers up death threats. OPEN
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Stephen Barber

J.G. Ballard’s self-declared ‘Immodest Proposal’ for a global war-alliance to exact the destruction of America demonstrates the provocatory zeal of his last fiction plans, as well as their enduring prescience. OPEN
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When life’s hard, time’s a motherfucker going slow

Soham Gupta

In his photographs and texts, Calcutta-based Soham Gupta forces the tension that arises between fiction and real-life conditions in as yet unseen ways. ABO DE FR

Maria Filomena Molder

So many egoists call themselves artists…

Words are human things; a great obscurity saturates them… OPEN
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Books

Antonin Artaud, Stephen Barber (ed.): “Here Lies” preceded by “The Indian Culture”

Antonin Artaud, Stephen Barber (ed.): Radio Works: 1946–48

Antonin Artaud, Stephen Barber (ed.): A Sinister Assassin

Antonin Artaud, Stephen Barber (ed.): Artaud the Mômo

Jean Paul Mongin, Junko Shibuya: Why Do Things Have Names?

“Obsessed with buffering”

Tom McCarthy

Recessional—Or, the Time of the Hammer

Towards the end of Thomas Pynchon’s mammoth 1973 novel Gravity’s Rainbow, the stumbling ingénue of a hero Tyrone Slothrop sets off on a commando raid. The territory he and his cohorts move through is a giant metropolis, a “factory-state” in which capital, technology and power, perfectly co-calibrated, send airships drifting through urban canyons, past chrome caryatids and roof-gardens on skyscrapers that themselves shoot up and down on elevator-cables: a conurbation Pynchon calls the “City of the Future” or “Raketen-Stadt.” The...

ABO

Modernism
conversation
fiction
literature
literary studies

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Jean-Luc Nancy

Ζένοι και Zah και Zuh

αποξενωμένοι αποκλίνοντες από ποιο αόρατο οικείο; OPEN
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Johannes Binotto

Where words are uttered, the taming is shrewed. OPEN
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The abandonment of the centrality of the subject

Donatien Grau

Philology keeps it possible to open a space for the minority. OPEN
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Tom McCarthy

The ironic self-awareness of the poet can only be that of his own inauthenticity, repeated or fed back into itself at increasingly conscious levels, and ‘to know inauthenticity is not the same as to be authentic’. ABO DE

Current Texts

Axel Dielmann

“Can you imagine something like that?”

The curators were probably worried that someone would stumble carelessly up the stairs while looking at the exhibits…

The curators were probably worried that someone would stumble carelessly up the stairs while looking at the exhibits—could I simply have gone past the first object at the bottom? Number 1, “Formless Veil, curtain …” Must have been attached to the wall just between the entrance and exitus … “My dear colleague …!” and staircase. “… curtain, height 310 cm, width 475 cm.” I must already have seen it in the previous section, wall-high thing. What I’m overlooking, it occurs to me, is what’s essential. Which is the simplest form of analysis. I should actually go back down the gently curving stone stairs. But it’s over. Before me the Anatomical Theatre opens up along a last flat landing. Lights …

Set into the rectangular space is the oval of a gleaming brown wooden balustrade. From here you look down. Someone is whispering. The funnel of the auditorium declines in three narrowing...

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