This past week I have been going through my library and putting my books together in some fashion on the bookshelves. It will never be perfect because one’s library is a self-portrait, as it happens. I buy and read books in a subconscious manner, and I rarely plan ahead in what I’m going to purchase, either in a new or used bookstore. Still, it is no surprise that I come back to a certain type of writer over and over again. I own seventeen titles by or about the French author Raymond Roussel. A writer who made an impression on me both as an artist and someone to look up to. I don’t want to say hero because I don’t believe in heroes the way other people do. I admire some of the most horrific people on this planet, so there has to be something there in a manner that inspires me. And Roussel, as an eccentric figure and endlessly wealthy, is someone I can really hold in high regard. What is endearing about him is that he saw himself as a very commercial writer, who happened to be the total opposite. He puts the new in avant-garde writing.
His entire writing life was to do something commercial in his mind but ended up with a small audience of readers and theatergoers when he wrote and produced full theatrical productions. No one showed up except a handful of people, but they were artists like Marcel Duchamp and members of the DADA and later the Surrealist group. Even up to the 1960s, his fans were poets John Ashbery and others of the New York School of Poetry. As for the mainstream audience that Roussel craved, they stayed home or far away from his work. How can one, especially a fellow like me, ignore such a magnificent personality and genius talent? Especially when he went around the world on a ship and pretty much refused to leave his cabin. The two novels by Roussel that one should start with are Impressions of Africa (1910) and Locus Solus (1913). I, of course, based my Impressions of Izu Oshima on Roussel’s impressions, which leads me to the thought that one can travel within one’s home or library without stepping out into the physical world that is outside my property line.
The only reason I do step out of the compound that is our home is to see my wife, Lun*na Menoh, and her bandmate Saori Mitome do a Les Sewing Sisters show at the nearby venue Zebulon. The great thing about this show, beyond their perfect performance, is that they are finally getting their own audience. One always remembers friends that come to the show, but now there are people in the audience who I haven’t the foggiest idea who they are. It makes me feel that life is moving on, with and without my presence. It’s a lovely feeling to see something like this from the shadows of my questionable existence.
I believe that I bought New Impressions Of Africa on you mention of Roussel and after that, Raymond Roussel and the Republic of Dreams, Mark Ford’s biography of him. Thanks.