Printer Friendly

Perec's painterly eye.

"Between Correggio's Anch'io son pittore and Poussin's J'apprends a regarder lie the fragile borderlines of the narrow field in which all creation takes place, and where ultimate development can only be Silence, that self-willed, self-destructive Silence which Kurz imposed upon himself when he had completed this work."

Like Un Cabinet d'amateur, Life A User's Manual can be labeled a "painterly" novel. It is the story of a painting - the painting in which Valene planned to depict a Parisian apartment block and all its inhabitants. It contains the story of an extravagant millionaire who spends ten years of his life learning the art of watercolor, and another twenty painting seascapes; and stories of many other real and fictional artists and their works. The book is constructed around generative machinery that includes, amongst other things, painting - as an activity, as a decorative element, and as a source for allusions and visual quotations. But there are other, perhaps more important dimensions of Perec's work that make it deserve to be called "painterly": Perec's special way of looking at things, of using his eyes as well as those of his readers.

French has a two-sided term to describe the action and reaction of the eye: le regard designates the action of looking at something or somebody with a concentration ranging from that of a glance to that of a stare, but it can also mean the expression or intention of the eye at a given moment. Le regard encompasses the active process of observation, the intentional one of creation (as in the invented title Perec attaches to Poussin in Un Cabinet d'amateur), and the more passive attitude of the seer. It is the subject of a remarkable book by one of Perec's early mentors, Jean Paris, entitled L'Espace et le regard (Space and Looking), which provides a structure, almost a theory, for viewing Perec's own viewing in Life A User's Manual.(1) Perec probably read all of Paris's works. But whether L'Espace et le regard is a direct source or only an "intertext" for Perec's exploration of the eye's action, it is an important work in its own right on the relation between artists, images, and their viewers.

Jean Paris argues that the best way of understanding how an artist wants his painting to be seen is to look at the eyes of his models and, in particular, at what they are doing: whether they are opened or closed, where they look, what system of regards can be established within the framework of the painting itself. Eyes, Paris shows, are often the privileged points in a painting by means of which the artist communicates with the viewer through the myths and metaphors connected with the eye, through exterior signs of sight and blindness, through the play of eyes between the figures on the canvas, and between the canvas and the viewer.

Life A User's Manual provides a catalog of eyes of all shapes and colors. This is somewhat surprising in an author who, while describing in extreme detail objects and places, tends to be less precise about his characters, the description of whose indefinite physiognomies hardly ever takes up more than a few lines. It is through the shape of the eyes that we sometimes gather an insight into their personalities. In this sense, Perec's heroes are no different from the stereotypes of Hollywood movies: big round eyes usually denote good nature, narrow ones are a sure sign of evil.

Perec does not include "looking" in the "activities" list of the "liabilities" of his novel [see Bernard Magne's article above, particularly pp. 116-211, but many of the characters are caught in this pose: Beatrice Breidel is looking at her cigarette burning away in the ashtray (L 18), Madame Plassaert is looking at a brooch that her husband is holding (248), Marcel Appenzzell is most often found staring at a gray-brown linen towel (108), etc. In some cases, people seem to be doing very little else. Gregoire Simpson, for instance, spends his days staring at shop windows, trees, people, anything that crosses his sleepwalking gaze (237-41). Eyes become a signifier of life or of nonlife. Two passages illustrate this point explicitly: in Madame Marcia's shop we find a book open to an illustration of a peacock whose white-rimmed eye gives the image "a touch of life" (320). The second passage describes Winckler's bereavement after the death of his wife: when he turns in his hands the objects that [Marguerite] had touched, she had looked at, she had loved" (246), he is trying to keep alive the memory of Marguerite not so much through the objects that were once hers, but through the senses and feelings that make a life: love, touch, sight.

The first allegory of the eye analyzed by Jean Paris is that of the eye as mirror of the soul, a belief dating back to medieval times. In Life A User's Manual, the eyes are often carriers of feelings like love, hatred, anger, sadness (determined by list number 9 of the "list of liabilities"). Eyes serve as receptacles of the work's generating constraints, even if quotations have sometimes to be adapted. In chapter 16, the undertaker of Mademoiselle Crespi's dream, whose eyes are "gleaming with hatred" (58), is a slightly modified allusion to Carpaccio's Dream of Saint Ursula. In the painting itself, the angel could just as well be bringing Saint Ursula her breakfast - his eyes betray nothing of the message he bears for her, symbolized by the attributes of death he carries, including the palm of martyrdom. Perec modifies his allusion in the spirit of Carpaccio. The way in which the painter's models' eyes are portrayed is, as Jean Paris points out, thematic: Saint Ursula, dreaming of her imminent death, shuts her eyes to the world; Saint George engages in a "visual combat" with the dragon, his spear, as well as his eyes, staring at his enemy in a kind of "steely glance."

Le regard is a carrier of feelings in Life A User's Manual, but also a carrier of pathos - a character ceases to be an object and arouses our sympathy, even if only for an instant, when he or she discloses his or her inner soul through a glance. The sad outcome of Paul Hebert and Laetizia Grifalconi's love in chapter 27 moves us more for the look in Paul Hebert's eyes, when, fallen into disgrace, he is recognized by young Riri and begs him to leave (125) than for the account of all the obstacles the couple had to overcome during the rest of their lives.

Chapter 28 begins with a revealing visual exchange when Bartlebooth meets his old art teacher on the stairs. This is the only instance in which the discreet millionaire shows his emotions to one of his neighbors; yet instead of launching into a psychological analysis, Perec suggests a whole network of possible interpretations with a single, blank glance.

"[It was a gaze] which did not manage to meet his own, as if Bartlebooth had sought to look behind his head, had wanted to pierce his head to reach beyond it the neutral asylum of the stairwell with its trompe-l'oeil decorations.... There was in that avoiding look something more violent than a void, something that was not merely pride or hatred, but almost panic, something like a mad hope, like an appeal for help, like a signal of distress." (125-26)

The meeting comes only two chapters after the explanation of Bartlebooth's lifelong project and the description of the beginnings of his career as a watercolor painter under the supervision of Valene. It takes place a few weeks before the death of Winckler. Bartlebooth has already reassembled over four hundred puzzles; he is already blind, and losing ground in his struggle to complete his project. Bartlebooth's elusiveness is a sign of weakness - the inability to look someone in the eye conventionally denotes a sense of guilt. This is confirmed by the use of expressions like "reach ... the neutral asylum," panic," "mad hope," "appeal for help," "signal of distress," which describe the reactions of a man in danger, a danger that comes, presumably, from the traps that Winckler has set for him - hence his hatred. The project is his only raison d'etre; its completion has become a matter of life and death.

Bartlebooth's choice of Valene as the addressee of his plea for help is perhaps due to the particular relationship that ties the two. Jacques Lecarme (in CGP IV, 121-42) has pointed out that the term "session" applied to a watercolor lesson (as on p. 169) is rather odd; it would be more suitable for a psychoanalytic session. If we think of Bartlebooth's project as a metaphor of life - childhood (learning), adulthood (living), old age (memory) - then Valdne forms part of Bartlebooth's painterly "childhood." Moreover, Valene has taught him how to look at things but also, perhaps, at himself. Significantly, in chapter 45 Perec, quoting Freud ("You are requested to close the eyes" / "You are requested to close an eye") replaces the psychologist of the Freudian example with an optician, the doctor of the eye.

Another possible connection between this scene and the theme of childhood and psychoanalysis comes from the choice of words, pointing back to Perec's autobiography, W or The Memory of Childhood. There, too, we find, almost word for word, the same metaphor of shipwreck and danger. Again, we have a search for identity - the false Gaspard Winckler looking for his childhood memories. These are impersonated by an autistic little boy whose name is also Gaspard Winckler. Unlike Bartlebooth, the child's only sense seems to be sight - he spends hours watching the sea from the deck. He is unable to hear or speak; in autobiographical terms, he has no childhood memories, or, at least, none he can express. Sight and obliviousness are, as we shall see, the two qualities Bartlebooth lacks. Ironically, in Life A User's Manual, it is again a Gaspard Winckler who provokes the search, only this time he is the one who inflicts a mutilation on Bartlebooth. In the end, Bartlebooth's inability to see is no different from little Gaspard's inability to express himself. Like Kurz in Un Cabinet d'amateur, whose artistic creation is placed between vision and expression - the fine interstice between J'apprends a regarder ("I learn to look") and the Anch'io son pittore ("I too am a painter") - Bartlebooth finds that, having learned how to "look" and to express what he sees, the only possible outcome is silence, that "blank" and "neutral" expression that is the special mark of Bartlebooth's eyes, of the child Gaspard Winckler, and of Perec's writing.

A second myth analyzed by Jean Paris is the eye as an instrument of power. In art God is often represented as an all-powerful, omnipresent eye, especially so in Hebrew and Yiddish folk art; Medusa turned into stone whomever set eyes on her and, on a more human level, the artist, too, is conventionally endowed with a very special kind of vision.

The fictional artists in Life A User's Manual conform to this pattern. Valene feels omnipotent when he thinks of painting the block of flats in Rue Simon-Crubellier, "as if his eyes and his hand had unlimited magnifying power" (227). Whether the painting is real or imaginary matters little in this case, as eye and mind are, metaphorically, identical.

Similarly, Winckler's strength lies in the dexterity of his hands and in his extraordinary "eye" (29), which he will use to deceive Bartlebooth. It could be argued that Winckler is not an artist, at least not in the definition of the term usually given by art historians, but Perec makes little distinction between craftsman and artist (artisan and artiste) just as he made little distinction between the writer's craft and his art. As a member of OuLiPo, Perec often compared himself to a carpenter or to a farmer farming different fields [see above, p. 21], and he defended the idea of the making of fiction against the conventional one of inspiration. In Perec's universe, the artist is one who, like Valene and Bartlebooth in the examples quoted above, uses hands as well as eyes to construct a work of art.

More generally, looking means conquering when it is the mark of the decisive man, of a man "with the world in his arms" as Perec was fond of saying, a mastery that is signified by what could be called, after Antonello da Messina, the regard of the Condottiere.(2) Victims are those who fall under the spell of the evil eye: misfortunes and illnesses (and these include, in classical mythology, also love, especially when unrequited) are often transmitted through the eyes. In Life A User's Manual there are many such examples: it is because of her eyes that Genevieve Foulerot is chosen for the part of Gabriella Vanzi, the woman whose glance drove Romeo Daddi mad (189). It is again because of her regard that Valene falls in love with Marguerite Winckler, "this soft and smiling woman who looked upon the world through such limpid eyes" (245).

The action of looking can be a way of "appropriating" the object of desire, like Boubaker who wanted to keep Elzbieta Orlowska "for his own eyes only" (269), or the many instances in which people are caught looking at photographs in an attempt to possess, or repossess, a part of their lives (Madame Albin in chapter 48, Veronique Altamont in chapter 88). Similarly, in chapter 78, Carol van Loorens gives a ring to Ursula von Littau; it is considered to be the symbol of memory since, according to an ancient legend, whoever sees it once will never be able to forget.

In the struggle for power, the eyes are also used as a defense against attacks from the enemy. Vision is the privilege of those who can "see behind" things, like the Touaregs who attend the illusionist performances of Henri Fresnel (alias Mister Mephisto, magician, fortune-teller, and healer) and see " right through every one of his sleights of hand" (261). Needless to say, the perspicacious Touaregs are "slit-eyed." In cases like these, eyes seem to be engaged in a game with rules that declare the winner to be the one who sees the other player's move in advance.(3)

The visual game on which Life A User's Manual is most obviously based is that of the jigsaw puzzle. The two players, Bartlebooth and Winckler, both acquire a certain expertise in the art of looking. For twenty years, Bartlebooth spends one week looking at the seascape of the port he is going to paint, then, on the last day, he paints his watercolor, very quickly, all at once. Winckler, back in Paris, follows the same steps. He spends the same amount of time just looking at the watercolor, then draws the outline of the cuts he will make very quickly, almost without lifting his pencil.

Winckler soon becomes the better player and sets the rules of the game. His trick consists of foreseeing the direction of Bartlebooth's regard, in other words, in predicting his next move, and then making the cutting lines along a different axis. A similar device is used by Valene to deceive the reader/viewer:

He would be in the painting himself ... not a central place, not a significant or privileged place at a chosen intersection, along a particular axis, in this or that illuminating perspective, in the line of any deeply meaningful gaze which could give rise to a reinterpretation of the whole painting, but in an apparently inoffensive place. (226)

Like Gaspard Winckler, he establishes an axis along which he will inscribe himself, then displaces the detail which would have given the self-referential game away.

Bartlebooth's mistake is to look at the pieces of puzzles as separate entities and to forget that what counts in puzzle-solving, as Perec remarks in the Preamble, is to be able to fit all the pieces together, to see the puzzle as a whole. The game established between Winckler and Bartlebooth follows quite closely the pattern of artistic creation. The transition from the J'apprends a regarder and the Anch'io son pittore of Un Cabinet d'amateur is a question that has haunted artists since the Renaissance. Alberti, in Della Pittura, suggests the use of a grid to enable the painter to see the details of the visible world, to relate them to each other, and to manipulate the viewer's eye so that he shares the same point of view as the artist. Paul Klee, a few centuries later, takes a similar stand in his Pedagogical Sketchbooks, when he describes the transformation of the static dot into linear dynamics. For Klee, too, the art work "grows |stone upon stone' (additive)" or is "hewn |chip from chip' (subtractive)" - in other words, the painting is a matter of perceiving single units and structuring them into a whole. He asserts the power of the creator over the receiver whose perception is limited by the fact that, like Bartlebooth, he can only grasp a very small portion of space at one time. The key sentence that summarizes the relevant section of the Pedagogical Sketchbooks is the one Perec chose as one of the epigraphs of Life A User's Manual: "The eye follows the paths that have been laid out for it in the work."

In the mind of the artist, the art of perception and the art of deception have always been associated. In this sense, the two epigraphs of Life A User's Manual that focus - through the eyes - on the artist's work as well as on the visual exchange between the artist and his viewer exemplify one, if not the main, theme of the novel and its main story: the conflict between Bartlebooth and Winckler.

The first epigraph, "Look with all your eyes, look" (from Jules Verne's Michael Strogoff), alerts the reader that there is more to the book than what is clearly visible, and it invites him to use his eyes to look for the latent behind the patent, or at least to try to, since the quotation occurs in Verne's novel when the hero is about to be blinded. The mystification is given away in the second epigraph when, through the words of Paul Klee, Perec tells the reader that what he can see is limited by the paths set out for him. What counts, in the end, is not so much the ability to see but the action of looking. In Michael Strogoff the hero keeps coming face to face with his mother but has to hide his emotions in order to keep his identity secret. He is captured by the enemy because he could no longer pretend, but, just as the executioner is about to pass the incandescent sword in front of his eyes, he sees, once again, his mother. Tears rise to his eyes and prevent the heat from blinding him (although, of course, he will pretend to be blind to complete his mission). The constant play between sight and deception, summarized in the menacing refrain - "Look with all your eyes, look" - is taken up by Perec who establishes a similar game with the reader. But unlike Michael Strogoff, and despite Perec's warning, we mostly do not see, but only pretend to do so.

The same consideration can be applied to Bartlebooth. Is he really blind? In fact, there are just as many references to his blindness (including those to his "blank" and "empty" eyes) as to his clairvoyance.

Jean Paris insists on the notions of "blind" and "clairvoyant": in painting, saints or saintly people are often represented with their eyes shut, or even as blind, because they are endowed with an "interior sight," often marked by the presence of "ornaments" or exterior signs of their sanctity. Bartlebooth is not a saint, but sometimes "could see without looking" or felt "he had a second sight," and the recurring "shadowless light of his scyalitic lamp" that illuminates his reassembling of puzzles could act as one of the ornaments Paris mentions. It is not so much the physical blindness that prevents Bartlebooth from completing his project (he will use the sense of touch and the help of young Veronique Altamont to overcome the handicap). What does hinder him is a temporary loss of sight. In order to succeed, Bartlebooth "had to switch his perception, see otherwise what the other had provided to mislead his eyes," that is to say, he had to use that "sideglance" mentioned by Perec in Penser/Classer (115) and in many interviews and conversations. Secondly, having painted the puzzles himself, he cannot avoid seeing (or seeing again) in his mind the places he once visited. Ironically this does not help him in his task. On the contrary, memory prevents him from seeing the cut wood simply as a piece of puzzle. That is logical enough: W or The Memory of Childhood has already shown the reader of Perec the extraordinary degree to which simple memories are misleading. The two characters in Life A User's Manual who attempt a reconstruction not unlike the recovery of childhood can only be confronted by a deficient and deceptive memory, and by failure.

One consideration that would seem to confirm the idea of Bartlebooth's "pseudo-blindness" is that although the topos of blindness is associated with that of a sordid or inferior life - the underworld (the basement, the boiler room) or the various monsters of the animal and human kind (Lino Margay) - there are two significant exceptions: the rather conventional instance of the blind piano tuner in chapter 78, and the more extravagant case of the woodworms that created the fabulous network of galleries in Emilio Grifalconi's antique table in chapter 27. In a different way these, too, are artists unaffected by blindness.

It should also be noted that partial blindness does not follow the same pattern. Although deficient eyesight (one-eyed, nearsighted, farsighted) is very common, the use of spectacles in Perec's novel is hardly ever to improve vision. All references to spectacles are of the aesthetic kind: they denote an activity (researcher, schoolmaster, calligrapher) or a status (James Sherwood's pince-nez). They are used in disguises (the six-year-old piano player on p. 286, or the mandarin on p. 400) and are often accessories for sunbathing, skiing, swimming, and so forth - that is, their function is to protect the eye rather than to improve vision.

Finally, amongst the many metaphors of the eye (lakes, spears, precious stones, etc.) Jean Paris considers that of the mirror, which works almost exactly like the eye but adds a different kind of vision: the imaginary, the deformed, the evil. Something very striking about the mirrors of Life A User's Manual is that they are mostly part of the decor, either present, past, or future: they are included in the description of a room, in Valene's memory, or within the lists of objects that will disappear when the block of flats will be knocked down. Mostly they are devoid of reflection, except in a few significant instances.

Mirrors are first of all a gateway to an imaginary world, at least in fiction or in figurative art, and a way of incorporating a "space" other than the one depicted - in other words, the mirror portrays the possible or the potential. Perec tends to use paintings rather than mirrors to incorporate stories and descriptions that would not, realistically, fit into the chapter. To my knowledge, the only mirrors serving this purpose are those that are themselves included in a painting, like the one in Louis Foulerot's The Murder of the Goldfish (221). Their reflection is not a reflection of the visible or possible world, but its reflection as painted by the artist. Only in one case is the mirror used as a looking glass (Isabelle Gratiolet telling herself stories in front of the mirror) and the term "looking glass" becomes the name of the Red Indian chief whose horsecloth is in Lord Ashtray's collection, that is to say, it is incorporated in a story about covers.(5) It is almost an invitation to "uncover" the mirror and to discover, once again, the eye.

The mirrors of Rue Simon-Crubellier function in a manner very similar to the eye as discussed so far. Just as the eyes can be used to assert power, so mirrors can assume diabolical powers. Gaspard Winckler's witches' mirrors, as if made in the likeness of their maker, have the same power to surprise and to frighten the viewer:

The small polished mirror looked like a metallic glance, an icy eye, wide open, full of irony and malice. The contrast between the unreal corona, as elaborate as a Gothic stained-glass window, and the harsh grey light of the mirror created a feeling of unease, as if this quantitatively and qualitatively disproportionate surround was only there to emphasise the maleficent power of convexity which seemed to want to concentrate all available space into a single point. (29)

Here, as in the case of the eye, we find the typical markers of exterior blindness/interior sight in ornamental elements such as the "corona" or the "Gothic stained-glass window," as well as all the attributes of malignant power. Evilness, though, is not a feature that is unique to Winckler's mirrors. Other characters are threatened or duped by mirrors of this type elsewhere in the book and, again, these are associated with sight or lack of sight. In chapter 41 we find an electric pinball machine called "Flashing Bulbs" made of hundreds of little mirrors reflecting flashes of light, which causes no less than six cases of blindness; in chapter 65, Lorelei uses mirrors, as well as smoke and other special effects, to lead her clients into believing that she makes the Devil appear.

What is peculiar to Winckler's mirrors is that they fulfill their role: they are not just metaphors of the eyes, they also work like eyes - they look at you. Perec often plays on what could be called the watcher-watched syndrome. It works a little like Velazquez's Meninas: on the one hand the viewer is looking at the painting of the infanta Margarita and her maids; on the other hand the painter, or his representation on the canvas, is looking at the viewer. In the mirror in the background there are two more people, either the queen and the king, looking, as the viewer does, towards their daughter, or the viewer himself. The artist and the mirror are there to confuse the viewer as to who is looking at whom.

Un Cabinet d'amateur presents the same mirror construction. The book is about a painting depicting Herman Raffke's collection of paintings, most of which turn out to be fakes. In the foreground, Herman Raffke is represented looking at his collection, whilst in front of him and the viewer the same painting hangs: "a game of mirrors ad infinitum where, as in Las Meninas ... the viewer and the viewed confront each other and are forever inseparable" (35).

The presence of all these disturbing eyes that transform, disguise, or influence more or less actively the space around them would indicate a space governed by man, a space, if we follow Jean Paris's system of classification, of the purest Latin tradition. (Northern painters depict man governed by the space around him.) This seems to be confirmed by another point he makes in L'Espace et le regard. He describes portraits in three different forms - frontal, three-quarter, and profile - to which correspond, in literature, first-, second-, and third-person narration. The frontal portrait paints the character on a uniform background whereby the viewer, undistracted, is faced with somebody looking straight at her (for example, Antonello's Condottiere); in the three-quarter portrait, the character looks elsewhere, to a point situated within or without the painting, but outside the visual field of the seer, who is thus cut out of the painting (for example, Holbein's Georges Gisze); similarly, in the profile, the viewer can only look at the painting as an outsider. "The profile ... offers a temptation to the artist: to grasp the other in the docile form of a thing or concept, to freeze him in an undivided space where his gaze is lost, as is his freedom" (Paris, 116). Perec's characters are often still lifes partly because the idea of the book, originally suggested by Saul Steinberg's cross-section of an apartment house, requires this type of description. On the other hand, Life A User's Manual is a lot more about life than one would think at first glance. Eyes and the significant looks in the characters' eyes, as well as the direction of their regard, are important elements that make people come out of their immobility.

The most significant looks are to be found in Serge Valene's eyes, which are "placed" at the intersection between the reader and the author's eyes. Valene's position in the book is ambiguous; on the one hand, he is the omniscient narrator, used by the author to establish eye contact with his reader or a character on which the action is focused.(6) But on the other hand, Perec himself describes Valene differently on at least two occasions: in Le Magazine litteraire (October 1978) he said, "The book is the story of Bartlebooth and Winckler.... And all that is narrated by a third person who is supposed to be painting the block." Since there is only one person painting the block of flats, namely Valene, he is, in this account, the narrator of the book. But the author also said: "The book is the story of a struggle between the two ... the third character who gives the story of the building: the book is the story of a painting which he might have painted. Finally there's a fourth character who never appears: the narrator" (Le Devoir, June 1979). The contradiction remains unresolved.

Although Life A User's Manual is mostly narrated in the third person singular, the story is occasionally related by a "we" - in sentences like "leftmost from where we are looking" (320). The speaking "we" could be either a "me and you" (the reader) or a "me and he" (the narrator). In Jean Paris's terms, the authorial "we" would represent in painting a frontal portrait together with a three-quarter or a profile, a paradoxical superimposition that reminds us of the caricature by W. H. Hill "which represents simultaneously a young and an old woman, the ear, the cheek, and necklace of the young one being, respectively, an eye, the nose, and the mouth of the old one, the old woman being seen close-up in profile and the young one's bust being seen at three-quarters angle from the rear" (334-35). Unlike the introspective eyes of nineteenth-century literature, Perec's characters' eyes are extroversive and interactive - establishing a complicated network of regards that link characters to each other and to the objects, places, memories, and dreams that make a life. Perec's peculiar achievement is to have given the reader a place within this painterly, writerly network, a place from which to "look with all your eyes," a place carefully "designed, calculated, and decided by the other" (xiii, 191) to guide the eye along paths that have been cut out for it.


(1) I am indebted to Pierre Getzler for drawing my attention to L'Espace et le regard. (2) Le Condottiere is the title of an unpublished novel by Georges Perec mentioned in W or The Memory of Childhood (1089). The painting by the same name also appears in Things, A Man Asleep, Life A User's Manual, etc. (3) In French, les yeux ("eyes") are closely related (for the player of alphabet games) to les jeux ("games"). (4) The reason could well be that Perec himself never wore glasses: see Penser/Classer pp. 133-50. (5) Lord Ashtray's obsessions "cover" his three real passions: boxing, three-dimensional geometry, and horsecloths. (6) Bernard Magne opened this question and assembled much of the evidence used below in "Quelques problemes de l'enonciation en regime fictionnel," in Perecollages (Universite de Toulouse-Le Mirail, 1989), 61.
COPYRIGHT 1993 Review of Contemporary Fiction
No portion of this article can be reproduced without the express written permission from the copyright holder.
Copyright 1993 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

Article Details
Printer friendly Cite/link Email Feedback
Title Annotation:Georges Perec/Felipe Alfau
Author:Molteni, Patrizia
Publication:The Review of Contemporary Fiction
Date:Mar 22, 1993
Previous Article:Transformations of constraint.
Next Article:Appendix.

Terms of use | Copyright © 2017 Farlex, Inc. | Feedback | For webmasters