Blazing genital / the eternal circle is your symbol [a]
Opening Remarks
Having explored part one of Monique Wittig's novel
Les Guérillères (1969) [b] in twenty
fragments from a lesbian utopia, here we are going to reflect on (and summarise) part two.
Again, let me confess from the outset that as much as I admire this text, it's one that I find difficult to follow at times due to its rejection of a linear structure. But then, of course, it wasn't written for me - lacking as I do a vagina and preferring fact and forgetfulness over myth and memory.
Twenty Fragments of Myth & Memory
(i)
Part two opens with a story told by someone called Sophie Ménade - which simply has to be a pseudonym [c].
Her tale is an imaginative retelling of several older myths, including the biblical story found in Genesis of Eve and the serpent, and is designed to subvert ancient wisdom (inherently phallogocentric as it is).
In Sophie's version of events, a naked black woman with a beautiful, glistening body walks through a colourful, vibrant orchard. She possesses a "hortative head of hair" (32) made of thousands of musical snakes that give her advice.
Her favourite snake, Orpheus, does not tempt her toward sin or downfall, instead, he encourages her to eat the fruit in the centre of the garden and persuades her that all things which sparkle are good (even if all that glitters is not gold).
I guess the idea is that we can trust our senses and should judge by the immediate, visceral experience of beauty as it is communicated to us - something that D. H. Lawrence would approve of, even if he speaks of things that glow rather than sparkle [d].
Sophie Ménade closes her address to the women by promising that, one day, they will have a clear understanding of a solar myth that will instruct them how to walk the earth as sun-women:
"At these words the women begin to dance, stamping the ground with their feet. They begin a round dance, clapping their hands, giving voice to a song from which no coherent phrase emerges." (32) [e]
(ii)
Although they lead quite a hippie-ish lifestyle, the women are first and foremost warriors and live to make war not love and to demonstrate "their strength and their courage" (32) on the battlefield.
The clue, of course, is in the word guérillères.
(iii)
Literacy is something else that matters greatly to these women: not a moment passes without one of them writing something in a great public register, or else reading aloud some passage. Interestingly, this is one of the main differences between Wittig's text and William Burroughs's novel The Wild Boys (1971) [f].
For although both books function as speculative, mythic fiction that uses experimental prose to narrate the violent overthrow of global heteropatriarchy by armed, gender-segregated combatants - and both authors believe that traditional narrative structures are inherently tied to oppressive systems of thought, meaning that language itself must be fractured - Wittig views language as a contestable area that can be reclaimed and rewritten, whereas Burroughs sees it as an alien virus used by the state to programme human behaviour.
Ultimately, his goal is not to write a queer new language, but to destroy language entirely so as to achieve absolute silent consciousness.
(iv)
One of the women - Phiomèle Sarte [g] - loves to sing while squatting on her heels and swinging her breasts from side to side. When she finally stops singing, she falls face down on the floor, spent with joy and exhaustion, and has to be carried home to her bed. That, or left on the grass to sleep in the sun.
One critic explains that this is a primal, ritualistic act that is all about reclaiming bodily autonomy and experiencing the kind of pleasure that the French call jouissance. The fact that, after she has collapsed, she is cared for shows the sense of community and mutual support among the women.
Of course, that's a reading that insists on the novel as a utopian work of allegorical fiction. More literal-minded readers might worry that the woman is mentally ill and clearly needs medical assistance rather than being left to lie on the grass or dumped back home to sleep it off (they might even call this neglectful behaviour).
(v)
It seems that the glenuri are not the only strange creatures found in Wittig's novel ...
Meet the julep - an animal "without head or tail that [...] spins on itself without uttering a sound" (33), so named because of its "predilection for rosewater" (35). Sometimes it is covered with scales; "at others it is covered with feathers" (33). It can sometimes emit a faint but unpleasant odour (a bit like garlic).
The little girls have tried to tame them: "They put them on a leash to drag them behind them. But even pulling with all their might they cannot succeed in making the juleps budge." (35)
Again, all of this means nothing to me, I'm afraid: I don't even find it particularly whimsical.
However, I've read that some feminist scholars think that the julep is an allegorical symbol for the clitoris: that by representing the latter as an independent creature Wittig isolates it from old ways of thinking and establishes it as an autonomous site of female pleasure [h].
I'm not entirely convinced by this, but, in the absence of any better theory, I'm happy to accept it.
(vi)
This made me smile:
"The women say that they perceive their bodies in their entirety. They say that they do not favour any of its parts on the grounds that it was formerly a forbidden Object. They say that they do not want to become prisoners of their own ideology. [...] For example they do not [...] say that the vulvas are like black suns in the shining night." (35)
And the reason it made me smile is because this is precisely what they do and say ...! [i]
Obviously, as a novel, Les Guérillères has no index. But if it did, the word vulva would feature at least ten times more than any other term. For as I said in the first part of this post, this is a book of aggressive vulva activism and cunt awareness - a space in which philosophers and insects quickly lose their way.
Having said that, see fragment (x) below.
(vii)
The women are warned: Beware of dispersal! Do not abandon the collectivity!
If I were one of their number, it's precisely at this point I would scat like a cat and sever all ties.
(viii)
Considering the women are meant to be happy holding hands, drinking, laughing, playing, etc., an awful amount of weeping goes on in Wittig's book. Particularly in the winter months when they roll in the snow and "sobs rack their bodies" (37).
Sometimes, it is so cold that "the frost solidifies their tears" until they "shine and sparkle on their cheeks" (37). Which is strange, because I thought they were living on tropical islands in the equatorial region, where it would normally snow on the highest mountain peaks.
Or is this a memory of an earlier time and place? I feel a bit lost. And a bit confused. And, to be honest, a bit bored.
(ix)
I don't know why, but the story of Adèle Donge and the meticulous embalming of her corpse (described in some detail), reminded me of the scene in David Fincher's Fight Club (1999) when the dead body of Robert Paulson is laid on the table and everyone begins to chant his name (even though in Project Mayhem each member is stripped of their individual identity).
Her name is Adèle Donge ... Her name is Adèle Donge ...
And it's a name heavily layered with historical, literary, and thematic meaning. For her surname is a reference to Marie Donge, the protagonist of Georges Simenon's famous 1942 novel La Vérité sur Bébé Donge.
In the book, Mme. Donge is a desperate housewife who cannot take it anymore and so quietly and meticulously poisons her unfaithful husband with arsenic.
By taking the surname and placing it into a setting of free, armed warriors, Wittig liberates the figure of the oppressed wife, transforming her from a domestic victim into a venerated, legendary figure of a sovereign female collective.
As for the first name, Adèle, this derives from the Germanic word for noble.
Now, of course, in a traditional patriarchal context, nobility is tied to lineage and male inheritance. But in Les Guérillères, it is earned on the battlefield and comes with death and the quasi-sacred ritual of her embalming.
Her body is preserved like that of an ancient Egyptian queen and revered by her sisters, just as Bob Paulson was turned into a martyr and accorded posthumous status by his brothers-in-arms.
In other words, in both Wittig's novel and Fincher's film, we witness the creation of a new sovereign mythology achieved through mourning and remembrance.
(x)
To be fair to the women, they do, at some point, realise that it's just as silly to worship the cunt as it is the phallus and that they must "examine the principle that has guided them" (44) and not exhaust themselves in symbolism or become trapped by their own anatomy.
If you really want to rediscover the body and what it can do, then one must listen to Artaud: lose the organs and reject the metaphysical overcoding and bio-functional organ-isation of the body into the organism [j].
(xi)
The feminist rejection of the domestic life and of work which has traditionally been regarded as suitable for them is celebrated in a huge bonfire of various objects and machines, including sewing-machines, typewriters, knitting-needles, ironing-boards, saucepans, brooms of every bristle, vacuum cleaners, washing-machines, etc.
"They heap them on to an immense pyre to which they set fire, blowing up everything that will not burn. Then, starting to dance round it, they clap their hands, they shout obscene phrases, they cut their hair or let it down." (45)
While part of me smiles, the problem with this kind of action is that it's so easy to throw the baby out with the bathwater - but then, les guérillères probably don't care too much about that; they want to be Amazons, not mothers, and reject the biological and social reduction of women to mere reproductive vessels.
If they do become pregnant and are obliged to eventually give birth, they view the latter as another kind of bloody battle and see the baby not so much as a bundle of joy but as something that has been captured.
(xii)
Torpedophiles will know that I have had a long interest in the strangely erotic relationship between women and snakes - see the post titled '
Ophidicism' (18 August 2013), for example.
And so, I was happy to discover that some of Wittig's warrior women enjoy coiling snakes around their bodies and engaging in ancient pagan practices that involve putting lips to scales and ritually kissing serpents.
(xiii)
The women decide to produce a new (post-patriarchal) dictionary in which the word hate has been redefined as a form of vital energy.
Now that's something I would support: for like William Hazlitt, I'm of the view that there's a real pleasure to be found in hating things - that hate is more than merely a reactive form of love and that, ultimately, it's hate, not love or truth, that will set you free [k].
(xiv)
Great gatherings of uniformed women all marching in unison - possibly even more depressing than great gatherings of uniformed men all marching in unison.
I hate great gatherings. I hate uniforms. And I hate the sight of people marching.
And the sight of horses wounded and maimed by war is simply heartbreaking - far more so than the sight of human combatants bleeding or missing limbs.
(xv)
Les guérillères mourn all women who are victims of male violence and who have been hanged, beheaded, or "broken alive on the wheel in a public square" (50).
As far as they are concerned, all these women are daughters of Eve and to the one who asks the nature of their crime they answer: "It was identical with that of the woman of whom it is written that she saw that the tree of the garden was good to eat [...] and that it was the tree requisite for gaining understanding" (50).
(xvi)
Flags are flown and trumpets sounded: let the war against men commence! The women laugh and shout and spit blood in the midst of battle, stepping over the bodies of fallen comrades:
"The women say they have learned to rely on their own strength. They say they are aware of the force of their unity. They say, let those who call for a new language first learn violence. They say, let those who want to change the world first seize all the rifles. They say that they are starting from zero. They say that a new world is beginning." (52)
They say a lot of things.
But I say (after Foucault) that they should beware of the fascism ingrained in their own behaviour and idealism that causes the love of power and violence, the desire for Year Zero.
(xvii)
"They say that it is better to die than to live as slaves." (57)
That's true, some famous figures (and former slaves) including Frederick Douglass, Samuel Sharpe, and Harriet Ann Jacobs have all agreed on this point, arguing that when a person is legally and economically reduced to the status of property or livestock, then the only way they can affirm their humanity is by consciously choosing their own death (the ultimate expression of free will).
But I don't think this should be allowed to pass without at least some resistance. For such idealism - which often seems to equate death with a form of escape and freedom - very often has fatal consequences not just for those who subscribe to it [l].
Critics of this supposed noble truth - one that is ironically born of slave morality - point out that equating death with freedom is, at best, a logical fallacy and often betrays a religious mindset. For death is not the gateway to the freedom that awaits in the afterlife. Death is the stripping away of all essence and agency; a festive return to the material realm.
Further, many historians point out that staying alive under oppression is its own form of defiance and that survival allows for the possibility of future rebellion, the preservation of culture, and to act as a historical witness.
(xviii)
A stylised performance that mimics combat movements, a war dance was traditionally used to prepare for battle, celebrate victory, or honour spiritual and tribal values.
Wittig's warrior women begin their dance by stepping forward lightly, moving in a circle, holding hands and carefully observing the music.
But, as they become more ecstatic, they leap about like young horses, stamping the ground and beating out the rhythm of a dance dedicated to the goddess Minerva: "Their violence is extreme. They crash into each other with bravura. No one can restrain them." (61)
(xix)
This is the sort of paragraph that one might have expected to see Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood used on a shirt design for SEX or Seditionaries, or that Jamie Reid might have incorporated into a piece of artwork for The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle, describing the Sex Pistols:
"They say that they foster disorder in all its forms. Confusion troubles violent debates disarray upsets disturbances incoherences irregularities divergences complications disagreements discords clashes polemics discussions contentions brawls disputes conflicts routs débâcles cataclysms disturbances quarrels agitation turbulence conflagrations chaos anarchy." (57)
(xx)
I'm not a pacifist. But I don't like those who glorify modern warfare and thrill to the thought of exterminating their enemy. And so, I don't much care for this from the very end of part two of Les Guérillères:
"Their favourite weapons are portable. [...] There is every kind of rifle. There are machine guns and rocket-launchers. [...] The objective is not to gain ground but to destroy the greatest number of the enemy [...]" (58)
I refer readers to the end of section (xvi) above re fascism and would remind them also of what Nietzsche says about honouring one's adversary - not seeking their annihilation.
Having a worthy enemy should be a point of pride; their strength forces you to raise your own game and overcome your own weaknesses.
Ultimately, it might be the case that not only does one find one's best enemy in one's best friend, but one locates one's best friend in one's best enemy.
The true warrior does not seek to humiliate or crush an opponent, but happily engage in struggle with them.
Unfortunately, it seems that in war as in love, woman is more barbarous than man ... [m]
Notes
[a] In her 1969 novel Les Guérillères, Monique Wittig uses the recurring letter 'O' as a powerful graphic and poetic device to primarily symbolise three things: female anatomy and sexuality (the vulval ring); a new point of origin free from old values that enables women to completely reinvent language, culture, and society (the mathematical zero); the unity of the lesbian sisterhood and community of warrior women (the circle of trust).
[b] Considered a pivotal text by feminist and lesbian thinkers, Les Guérillères by Monique Wittig was originally published by Les Editions de Minuit (1969). David Le Vay's 1971 English translation has been used in numerous editions, including the Beacon Press edition (1985) and the University of Illinois Press edition (2007).
Here, I am using the /ubu Editions e-book (2007). This free digital publishing project - created as part of UbuWeb - is an online archive for avant-garde writing founded by the American poet and cultural provocateur Kenneth Goldsmith.
[c] I say this because the name 'Sophie Ménade' is simply too good (too convenient) to be true; the forename being the French spelling of the Greek word for wisdom [σοφία] and the surname meaning a wildly excited (possibly violent) woman who is either divinely inspired or a little bit crazy. It comes from the Greek term μαίνομαι (maínomai), which is where the female followers of Dionysus took their name from.
[d] See Lawrence's essay 'Introduction to These Paintings', in Late Essays and Articles ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 192, where he rejects the folk wisdom of base-born proverbs that denigrate beauty and cause us to doubt our own senses. "If you can't trust the impression which things make on you", he writes, "you are a fool."
See also the article 'Sex Appeal' in the same volume, pp. 143-148, in which he writes of beauty as an experience.
[e] Again, one can't help but be reminded of Lawrence who also speaks of women in a time to come who belong neither to men nor their children nor even themselves, but to the sun. See D. H. Lawrence. 'Sun-women', in The Poems Vol. 1, ed. Christopher Pollnitz (Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 456.
[f] I recently wrote a post titled 'Dancing in the Rain' (3 Sept 2016) which discusses Burroughs's Wild Boys novel in relation to the song by Duran Duran. One day, I will write the comparative study I promised on Wittig's novel and Burroughs's book. While their violent revolutionary fantasies share much in common and both works read like ancient epic poetry or future tribal histories rather than traditional novels, their ultimate political destinations represent two entirely different poles of radical separatism.
In brief, Wittig celebrates the total destruction of phallocracy to liberate the female body and construct a world based on collective sisterhood (which eventually incorporates men who surrender their patriarchal power). Burroughs's utopia, on the other hand, is an exclusively male, homoerotic universe that eliminates women completely (his future world relies on cloning, not sexual reproduction). She wants an egalitarian society free of sex and class dynamics; Burroughs envisions his wild boys one day abandoning the Earth and mutating into alien space beings.
[g] A name that playfully suggests this woman is a lover of songs with existential meaning. In Greek mythology, Philomela is an Athenian princess who after some great tragedy befalls her is transformed by the gods into a nightingale. And Sarte ... well, I probably don't need to explain the cultural and philosophical resonances of this name (even when missing an 'r').
[h] Feminist theorists have been keen to posit the clitoris as a highly sensitive and complex organ that challenges religious, social, medical, and literary frameworks that have traditionally ignored, denied, or downplayed female pleasure.
One might recall Lady Chatterley's lover, Oliver Mellors, raging about the clitoris (or what he calls the beak). In his phallocentric view, a mature woman should only achieve orgasm through vaginal penetration by the penis. Clitoral stimulation is, in his opinion, an immature, inferior, and even unnatural way for a woman to derive pleasure. See chapter 14 of Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928).
[i] This claim that the women do not "say that vulvas with their elliptical shape are to be compared to suns, planets, innumerable galaxies" or that the cunt "is the primal form which as such describes the world in all its extent, in all its movement" is repeated on p. 37. But despite this insistence, I still think that this is what many of the women believe.
[j] See Antonin Artaud's 1947 text (performed as a radio play) Pour en finir avec le jugement de dieu (To Have Done with the Judgment of God), in which he declares that there is 'nothing more useless than an organ' - even our sex organs. See also Deleuze and Guattari's development of Artaud's thinking in Anti-Oedipus (1972) and A Thousand Plateaus (1980).
[l] Indeed, it might be argued that this is often a luxury belief; that romanticising death over slavery is often an attitude held by those who are not actually facing the immediate reality of being killed.
The American Founding Father, Patrick Henry, for example, did not die violently, nor did he ever have to choose between literal death or slavery. Instead, he lived a relatively long and prosperous life and died peacefully at home. When he delivered his famous 'Give me liberty, or give me death!' speech at the Second Virginia Convention in March 1775, he was speaking rhetorically and using slavery as a political metaphor (his actual objection was to British rule and the imposition of taxes by the Crown - and it might also be noted by those who appreciate a little irony that he himself was a major slaveholder).
[m] I'm paraphrasing Nietzsche's line from Beyond Good and Evil (1886): "In revenge and in love woman is more barbarous than man." Trans. from the German by R. J. Hollingdale in the Penguin edition (1990), IV. 139, p. 101.
To read the third and final part of this post, please click here.
