Name der Zeitschrift: Semiotica Jahrgang: 2016 Heft: 210 Seiten: 267-271.

Gérard Genette parle fort peu de questions spatiales dans ses discours sur le récit. Il s’en est justifié en arguant que l’espace narratif constitue une catégorie de contenu plutôt que de forme. Cependant, cet espace s’avère souvent narrativement pertinent pour des raisons qui ne sont pas thématiques et, tout en restant fidèle à Genette, on peut caractériser narratologiquement les potentialités spatiales du récit. Cela suggère que le désintérêt de Genette narratologue pour ce domaine est lié non seulement à un choix (...) d’objet et à des questions de méthode mais aussi à des raisons plus individuelles : si Genette est bien « l’homme de l’espace », il l’est toujours du dehors, loin de tout colmatage et de toute rigidité. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Gerald Prince WORLDS WITH STYLE Whether it is taken to be a laudable characteristic of verbal artifacts (as in, "This essay is really well written"), a distinctive feature of an individual manner of speaking or writing (as in, "Jane definitely has a style of her own"), an ornamental supplement to that which is expressed (style as elocutio), or an appropriate way of using language in different contexts (there is (...) — or was — a style for tragedy, another one for comedy, and still another one for pastoral; there is a style for speaking at business meetings and other styles better suited to everyday conversations, political rallies, or Ph.D. exams), whether it is taken to be any of these four things (or many other things as well), the style of an utterance is traditionally viewed as a secondary phenomenon different from and added to some primary base. It is the mode of expressing a given matter, the way of "saying" some thing, the how of a what. The same is true when the notion style is used in connection with nonverbal artifacts — we talk about musical styles and about pictorial ones — but also in connection with any number of activities or states of affairs: walking down the street, dancing the tango, being pleasant, or playing ping-pong. Ping-pong players use rackets, a net, and a ball, in accordance with certain rules, when they engage in a casual game; but they are thought to be doing somediing more than merely playing: they are performing an activity (the what) in a particular way. They do it stylishly, idiosyncratically, with a lot of showboating, or in a manner appropriate to the informal context.1 It is somewhat surprising, therefore, that, when it comes to verbal (and nonverbal) representations, style is often thought to be irrelevant to the signified (what is represented) as opposed to the signifier (what represents). Graham Hough writes, for example: "In discussing whatever it is we mean by style we assume mat the primary choice, the choice of subject-matter in the large sense, has already been made.... We can talk about the secondary choice, the stylistic one, in various ways.... But whatever point of view we adopt, it will be the verbal ordonnance that we discuss, not the oudines of die mym, the facts of the case, the ideological or biographical substructure."2 Yet, as I have more than suggested, any what has (or can have) a corresponding how. Besides, both 59 60Philosophy and Literature in formal criticism and informal exchanges, we frequently seem to refer to the how of a signified. When we say, for instance, that a given short story is Kafkaesque, we do not, I think, have its verbal style in mind; and when we claim that a novelistic episode or character comes right out of Alice in Wonderland, we are not talking about linguistic matters. Of course, the fact mat we seem to refer to the how of signifieds (or that we do refer to the how of signifiers) does not necessarily mean mat mere are such things (or that we can describe them). But I suspect that there are (and that we can). I would like to discuss in what follows some of the ways in which we might be able to talk of the style of represented "worlds" more or less meaningfully and systematically and some of the problems attending such talk. For the sake of convenience and because of personal affinities, I will restrict myself to verbal narratives. I will not make a distinction between literary and non-literary ones, since such a distinction is formally and even pragmatically quite problematic. IfI concentrate on fictional narratives, it is, again, because of personal affinities and not because I mink that, when it comes to style, (ontological or other) differences between fiction and nonfiction make very much of a difference. As I will argue, style is in the eye ofthe beholder and, from that point of view, whether or not something is compossible with one's knowledge of the "real world" does not necessarily make it function as fictional or nonfictional; indeed, I am constandy surprised by the real world and I could easily recount... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:GenetGerald PrinceGenet, by Edmund White (with a chronology by Albert Dichy); xliii & 820 pp. London: Picador, 1994, $29.95 paper.Abandoned to a foundling home in 1910 at the age of seven months, he started to steal before puberty, spent over two years as a teenager in the penal colony of Mettray, signed up with the French army for several tours of duty, and deserted. He traveled through Europe (...) and was arrested in Albania, Yugoslavia, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland. He was also repeatedly arrested and sent to jail in France—for embezzlement, for petty theft, for vagrancy—and his record of convictions made him liable for a life sentence until he was pardoned by the President of the Republic. He looked like a dandified tramp or a retired boxer. He frequented thugs and artists or philosophers, criminals and police chiefs, prostitutes as well as cabinet ministers. A book lover, he owned no books. A homosexual, he was rarely attracted to other homosexuals. A great champion of singularity, he came to feel that all human beings were equally valuable. Though he showed himself capable of impassioned friendship, he extolled and often practiced betrayal. He once boasted of being “strong from never having passed through a woman except at the moment of [his] birth” (p. 594). Yet he was a feminist. For a long time he could barely compose a standard letter in French but, when he died from throat cancer in 1985, he had written several masterpieces. He was Jean Genet.If, in his monumental Saint Genet, Sartre pays more attention to the configuration of the writer’s life than to the moments making up that life, Edmund White, in his admirable biography, patiently aligns the moments and waits for patterns to emerge. Genet is, first of all, a meticulous chronicle and can be savored for the details it provides about the protagonist’s daily life or its context, from gay bars in Pigalle to the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago which Genet covered for Esquire. We learn many things. For example, that the FBI spelled his name as “John Genet” and Sartre’s as “Jean Paul Sat”; or that Leonard Nimoy (Mr. Spock) started his career by playing in movie versions of two Genet plays: The Balcony and Deathwatch.Through the accumulation of facts and anecdotes, great themes—homosexuality, death, abjection, gesture, power—slowly crystallize and White writes splendid pages on the quality of Genet’s texts (beyond their shock value: Genet said that “poetry is the art of using shit and making you eat it”). Written from 1942 to 1947, his five novels (Our Lady of the Flowers, The Miracle of the Rose, Funeral Rites, A Thief’s Journal, Querelle) treat homosexuality with unsurpassed candor, glorify evil, transvalue all values, and blend sociology and myth, slang and highly formal language, in a sumptuously lyrical prose. With The Balcony, The Blacks, and The Screens—composed between 1955 and 1957—Genet invents a stylized and ritualistic theater to explore the dynamics of power. Finally, in the striking mixture of memoir, pamphlet, and epic called The Prisoner of Love [End Page 146] (1985) Genet exalts two disinherited groups—the Black Panthers, the Palestinians—and suggests that love is the site where uniqueness and universality merge.More generally, certain constants in Genet’s life become evident: the loyalty to the abandoned child he was and the hatred for the bourgeois society that dispossessed him; the need to reject before being rejected; the fascination with power and the affirmation of otherness; the ability to mythify himself as an angel of rebellion. Genet was a sociopath of genius.Above all, by its scrupulous scholarship, its successful determination to remain impartial, and its capacity for authoritative prosaism, White’s biography encourages readers to take a (new) look at Genet’s flamboyantly unorthodox writing. It is a remarkable achievement.Gerald PrinceUniversity of PennsylvaniaCopyright © 1995 The Johns Hopkins University Press... (shrink)