A Minuit of French Literature
There are any number of threads—or series—to follow when looking into the Dalkey Archive backlist. Many of which can provide a crash course in a particular country’s literature (personally immersed in the Spanish literature right now), a particular style of writing (someday I’ll write about the gigantic subset of the Dalkey catalog about narrators writing a book about the book they want to write), or more rhizomatically linked works (such as the number of titles that all include “hotel”: Hotel Europa, Heartbreak Hotel, Hotel Crystal, Splendide-Hôtel . . .).
All great ideas for future newsletters, but for today, I want to look at two different things: The importance of French Fiction on the shape of the Dalkey backlist and the Scholarly Series.
Although the Scholarly Series—in its current iteration—was officially launched in the early 2000s as a way of publishing critical books about the types of authors Dalkey publishes, scholarly titles have been incorporated into the list since the mid-1980s, with the Thomas Pynchon Bibliography, Gilbert Sorrentino Bibliography (remember when bibliographies were only available in print and at libraries??!), Interviews with Latin American Writers, Interviews with Spanish Writers, and French Fiction Revisited by Leon Roudiez, a book that’s a perfect starting point for this particular trip through Dalkey’s past and present.
Published in 1987 (and revised in 1991), French Fiction Revisited is billed as a “welcome guide” providing an overview of post-WWII French literature, literature “exploring new narrative techniques and incorporating challenging new ideas in aesthetics, politics, psychoanalysis, gender, linguistics, and philosophy.” Literature that, admittedly, “looks strange and forbidding to American readers.” (Some things never change.)
Who are these authors? Well, they include: Raymond Roussel, *Nathalie Sarraute, Maurcice Blanchot, Marguerite Duras, *Claude Simon, *Robert Pinget, *Alain Robbe-Grillet, *Claude Ollier, *Michel Butor, *Maurice Roche, *Jean Ricardou, and Georges Perec. (Asterisk indicates that Dalkey has published work by this author.)
To those in the know, a lot of these authors are part of the “Nouveau Roman,” or “New Novel” movement spearheaded by Alain Robbe-Grillet and Éditions de Minuit, which, under the guidance of Jerome Linden became one of the most influential and impressive French publishers of the twentieth- and twenty-first centuries.
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From Minuit by Stephen Spalding:
During the sixty years that followed its inception as a clandestine press in Nazi-occupied France, Editions de Minuit succeeded in creating and sustaining a significant place for itself in the French cultural landscape, often against difficult odds. One sign of its success is the preponderant space given many of its authors in most literary studies of the period of Editions de Minuit’s existence so far; it is clear that most, if not all scholars and readers of twentieth-century French literature would be able to recognize the publisher’s enduring imprint. Much of what is considered canonical French literature from the latter half of the century originally bore the Minuit stamp, from the major works of Samuel Beckett, Claude Simon, and Marguerite Duras, to those of Alain Robbe-Grillet. This book asks where Minuit found itself in French literary culture at the end-of-century, on the eve of the age of digital and internet media, and how it secured that position. To do so, I tell parts of the publisher’s history, with the aim that broader changes in the system of cultural production can be discovered through the story of Minuit. While others have written parts of Minuit’s history, my intention is to contribute new elements to the writing of that history. I focus on discrete moments in the history of Minuit in order to bring to the surface elements of a sociological analysis of literary value. My work is an attempt at cultural history, and at re-situating literature—specifically novels—within the very processes of dissemination and reception that imbue them with significance. To this end, I not only present important moments in Minuit’s history, but also describe the principal components of the French literary culture during each time period.
The complete socio-cultural history of the press is quite interesting (and a sort of counterpoint to mainstream American publishing ca. 2022), and it’s perfect that this is the first Scholarly Series book to come out as part of our Dalkey 2.0 relaunch. (Although, it’s worth noting that John signed this on before passing—for reasons that are sure to become obvious.)
You can order the book now—it’ll be available as soon as the printer can print it—and get a complete rundown of Minuit from its origins through its postwar transition, to Lindon’s attempts to find new “schools” of younger French writing. (More on that below.)
Aside from the “big guys”—most notably Gallimard and Seuil—Minuit and P.O.L. (which has a complete issue of RCF dedicated to it) were the two primary French presses John would talk about and scour for books throughout my tenure at the press. And with good reason! Baked into the DNA of both presses was, for lack of less off-putting terms, a palpable interest in progressive, innovative, experimental writing. The New Novel and its descendants (Minuit), and Oulipo-adjacent (P.O.L.). Sticking with Minuit, here are three things that either John talked to me about, or that represent a parallel between the two presses:
1. The Jacket Design (or Lack Thereof).
Minuit’s covers are famous for looking basically like the cover of Minuit: Blue text on a white background, thin blue border, no jacket copy on the back. Plain, simple covers was something John longed for and which, in a somewhat aesthetically misguided way, can be found in the later years of the press with its overly simple red, white, and black covers featuring clip art designs. (Sometimes a single, larger, picture, sometimes three of the same image arranged diagonally.)
He never did get away from jacket copy though . . . Which has only become more and more emphasized (along with BISAC codes, comp titles, keywords, etc.) in our digital age. It’s highly unlikely we’ll ever return to a time in which you’d have to pick up a book and start reading it to find out what’s inside. Instead, every book is “luminous,” “crucial to our time,” “filled with wondrous prose that transports you” and a million other meaningless platitudes. And jacket covers have become an artistic arms-race of sorts, with everyone vying to produce the “most Instagrammable cover.”
2. The New Novel
“Reading Pinget and Robbe-Grillet is like being able to watch a master painter as they construct a masterpiece. See how they create a picture brushstroke by brushstroke.” Total paraphrase, but this sentiment of John’s was what made all of these authors click for me. I had read Robbe-Grillet after college because I “knew I should,” and loved the repetition of Jealousy and In the Labyrinth, but felt it was almost too formulaic, too cerebral. Granted, Erasers and Voyeur would’ve been better books to start with when you’re twenty-one, have opinions on everything, and are entering into a life-long romance with Pynchon, but, still, it was John encouraging me to read Sarraute (The Planetarium is one of the first Dalkey Archive Essentials for a reason) and then Pinget (The Inquisitory is genius, although Mahu and Baga might be more “pleasurable” reads) that both made this particular school of writing intriguing to me, and galvanized my interest in what kind of writing could come next. What else can literature do—especially in terms of form and structure—that’s unique to the medium, not wedded to being cinematic, instead taking advantage of the ambiguity inherent in words and sentences and paragraphs—and their ability to create something beautiful. And funny.
3. Singularity of Vision
One of the most interesting aspects of Spalding’s look at Minuit is the singular focus that Lindon had throughout the time of the Nouveau Roman. He published Critique to both find and bolster the Minuit stable of authors (synonymous with the New Novel for a time), worked an academic angle to make sure the books were supported in that sphere—which held much more sway at that time than it does nowadays—and made apparent the aesthetic underpinnings of this particular approach to literature.
Reading Spalding’s book, you can find a lot of parallels with Dalkey’s overall goal. Sure, given the cultural marketplace pressures of the 1990s and 2000s, the idea of publishing only one sort of literary approach is non-tenable, but there is something to be said about the aesthetic umbrella (for lack of a more apt metaphor) that John always promoted. Valuing form over plot. Style and approach over emotional mawkishness. The uncertainty of experiment over trope-laden MFA bullshit.
To adhere to this—which entails finding ways to make this happen despite the fact that these books will likely “look strange and forbidding to American readers”—is admirable to its core. Judging any art on its success and/or praise in the current moment is foolish at best, and I personally believe the goal is to find a way to make a maximum number of great books available for as long as possible so that they can be appreciated by readers decades removed from each other. As opposed to trying to publish the timely, the trendy. Which is like last week’s chasing-last-week’s viral TikTok trend. (A trend that, a week later, is a sad Instagram reel.)
There are two things that make this possible for a publisher: a few sporadic hits (the Nouveau Roman sold well, as did Wittgenstein’s Mistress, Chromos, and, later Voices from Chernobyl) and a solid, solid backlist (get Robbe-Grillet into every classroom!, publish a thousand books and sell an average of 150 copies of each per year).
To date, no academic had a greater influence on Dalkey’s “French Literature Series” than Warren Motte. His books, Oulipo: A Primer of Potential Literature, Fables of the Novel, French Fiction Today, and Fiction Now, not to mention his introductions, contributions to CONTEXT, and recommendations, have had a huge influence on shaping Dalkey’s list. (Not to mention, his son has designed dozens of Dalkey covers!)
Before coming to Dalkey, I was in awe of Warren because of his Oulipo book, and devoured Fables of the Novel (2003) when we signed that on. Subtitled “French Fiction Since 1990,” Fables includes articles on the following authors (again, asterisks indicate that we did one or more of their titles): J. M. G. LeClézio, *Eric Chevillard, Linda Lê, *Eric Laurrent, *Jacques Jouet, Marie NDiaye, *Jean Echenoz, Christian Oster, *Jean-Philippe Toussaint, and *Lydie Salvayre.
Everything about this list screams “ahead of its time.” I think it was mid-pandemic (is there actually a “midpoint” that’s become a forever state?) that Chevillard became “Twitter Cool.” Literally, eighteen years after Warren sang his praises in this Scholarly Series book.
But the point that I want to make isn’t that Warren + Dalkey was ahead of its time (I think that’s a given), but that you don’t need to be a scholar to appreciate Warren’s books. His essays are incredibly learned, and feature brilliant analyses and criticism, but are also fun to read, and can get you really excited about reading these authors. (And wishing that more were translated.)
Here's a quote from Motte’s French Fiction Today (2017) which covers (again with the asterisks), Marie Ndiaye, *Jean Rolin, *Christine Montalbetti, *Antoine Volodine, Marie Cosnay, Patrick Deville, *Gérard Gavarry, *Lydie Salvayre, *Tanguy Viel, and Pierre Bayard. (For statisticians keeping track at home, of the 32 distinct authors cited in the three French fiction books I’ve referenced so far, Dalkey has published 19 of them, or 59%.)
Just as a matter of observation, it is a curious tale that hinges upon the rupture of a radiator hose. Yet that is precisely the case of Jean Rolin’s L’Explosion de la durite [The Explosion of the Radiator Hose] (2007), the chronicle of a trip whose purpose is to convey an automobile from Paris, the capital of Darkest France, to Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It is a pleasingly subtle text, a narrative as sly and canny as one is likely to find in contemporary French literature. One doesn’t quite know what to call it, however, in view of how lustily it plays on the boundaries of genre. Prose fiction, autobiography, travel narrative, participatory journalism, and historiography all compete with each other here, sometimes loyally and equally, sometimes in ways far less balanced. One might as well call the text a “novel,” invoking that word as a default term, and for lack of a better one. It is a much-contested term, to be sure; but it is also extremely resilient, because the novel, these days (at least the novel of the “serious” stripe), is almost always a hybrid form, one wherein hallowed generic convention has ruptured no less spectacularly than Rolin’s radiator hose.
If you’re interested in the development of interesting French fiction post-Nouveau Roman, Motte’s books are a must.
One last Scholarly Series book that I want to bring attention to—and which also includes a bevy of Dalkey authors—is Pablo M. Ruiz’s Four Cold Chapters on the Possibility of Literature Leading Mostly to Borges and Oulipo. In “organizing” John’s basement back in 2020, this was one of the newer books that jumped out at me. I love Borges, I love the Oulipo, I love titles that are actually declarative sentences . . .
And man, this book did not disappoint. When I read it last fall, I was totally consumed, talking at anyone who would listen about this essay, which starts with Poe’s “The Philosophy of Composition”—and Poe’s argument that every line of “The Raven” “proceeded step by step, to its completion, with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem”—then verges and diverges through literary history past and present to examine authorial intent, centers of creativity, literary potential, and the subgenre of writing about how you write. (So very Dalkey.)
That description doesn’t do the book justice, and trying to pick a representative section from this intricately patterned study is equally inadequate, but here’s one of the dozens I marked; it opens by tying together one of Dalkey’s biggest influences with one of Open Letter’s best-selling authors and demonstrates how, in this study, everything does lead to Borges or Oulipo:
A different way for the potential: Laurence Sterne’s Tristram Shandy is a work that famously seems to no manage to start, continually postponing what it promises to tell. Macedonio Fernández’s The Museum of Eterna’s Novel does start but not before offering a long series of prologues, actually longer than the text of the novel itself. Prologues can be described as the formal equivalent of the potential, texts made of promises and expectations. Macedonio wrote most of his novel in that space where a novel starts to be written with without actually starting. The indefinite differing of the beginning. A “Philosophy of Composition” written by Kafka.
The following process should be noted: what in a certain moment is considered a philosophical or scientific explanation, as time goes by it becomes, not infrequently, poetry or a possibility for poetry. Aren’t melancholy or ether, for us today, fragments of poetic imagination? The explanation of human sight by Plato, the physiological theory of love by Ficino, the multiplication of light which Grosetteste proposed as the origin of the world, were originally meant as explanations of the world. They ended up being worked by history with the very arts of a magician: without changing a single letter, time turned them into the material of poetry.
Borges plays with the opposite idea. When developing what he called “fantastic literature” (or literature of the fantastic), we can say that he replaces the concept of mimesis by that of potential or probably mimesis, that is, by the possibility that those texts might resemble the way the world may possibly be: “We don’t know whether the world is realistic or fantastic,” he declared more than once. Literature would reproduce not reality as it is perceived, but the reality of our impossibility to know how reality is. There is potential realism imbedded in fantastic literature, and the key to that distinction is epistemological.
The impulse to create critical materials on authors not already canonized by the academy is baked into the very premise of Dalkey. It’s obvious in the Review of Contemporary Fiction, but also in considering these scholarly books. There’s a strong Golden Age of Minuit vibe: Publish the critical books that provide context and praise for your authors, thus allowing more people to study and teach them. (“Fuck the Academy; Canonize Yourself.”) And although John—not to mention the press itself, as a nonprofit organization—had a love-hate relationship with universities, it’s hard to dissociate Dalkey from its academic leanings.
(Going back to the opening paragraph, you could do a lot worse than “take a degree” in reading all thousand or so books in the backlist and all the issues of RCF.)
The Scholarly Series may not be for everyone, but for those of you who like a little critical reflection to go with your fiction consumption, here are a handful of other titles from the series I would recommend checking out: Reading Games: An Aesthetics of Play in Flann O’Brien, Samuel Beckett & Georges Perec by Kimberly Bohman-Kalaja, Amongst Those Left: The British Experimental Novel 1940–1980 by Francis Booth, Another View: Tracing the Foreign in Literary Translation by Eduard Stoklosinski, Barbara Wright: Translation As Art, Re:Quin by Robert Buckeye, Translation as Innovation: Bridging the Sciences and the Humanities, and Exercises in Criticism: The Theory & Practice of Literary Constraint by Louis Bury.
And don’t forget to preorder the next three books in the Scholarly Series: Minuit by Stephen Spalding, Monogamy: Its Songs and Poems by Robert von Hallberg, and Confessions of Narcissus by Sean Scully. I’ll share longer excerpts from all of these in the near future.
And if you think you have a book that would be good for the series, check out the submission guidelines.
Raymond Roussel needs an asterisk: Dalkey published Impressions of Africa.