Philosopher, cultist, author, Georges Bataille was the first author whose work I freely devoured. In an impulse, bordering on the eroticism and violence he professed, I hunted his books down, looking for anything I could read. It began with Story of the Eye (1928), a book the Surrealists placed on their ideological altar.
The protagonist’s name is never mentioned but he worked as surrogate for Bataille’s fantasies. A teenage boy and girl, Simone, fondle the most absurd depths of their desire; fornicating, and exploring each other’s bodies in violent and profound ways. It’s porn…but it isn’t porn; it’s more than that.
The two characters meet a young virgin, named Marcelle who they proceed to absolutely corrupt. In one scene, the two protagonists (although it almost burns to call them that because they are so delightfully malevolent) instigate an orgy of their peers, which includes tweens masturbating for eachother, and Marcelle, poor, dear Marcelle, locked in a wardrobe, urinating and shaming herself into insanity. She is later institutionalized and hangs herself, calling out for the Cardinal, which is pretty deep when you read the book.
When I used to not give a shit about credibility or opinions, in other words, back when I did drugs, I’d lend this book to friends with a message: Read this and know me. Many did and suddenly our friendship would either dissipate into oblivion or we’d draw closer. The truth was, I kinda got a kick, knowing that they’d be squirming, like I did, for 103 pages.
Now we’re past the porn part. There are serious philosophical questions proposed regarding death, bliss, and will. Although it is at times twisted logic, it is the truth of humanity’s sick and most brutal nature, rooted in eroticism and violence, both interchangeable in Bataille’s Story of the Eye. Some will understand his message and those who don’t should look deeper inside themselves and ask why some of the brutal honesty of the author’s depiction of our soul doesn’t also beg slick vibrations throughout our bodies. The intention is to open you up completely so the reader can dissect himself and question his own humanity; the thing that makes us, us. Anti-religion? Anti-puritanical society? Perhaps but worthy of an open mind.
Batailles went on to write more provocative books, even started his own cult, which abruptly ended when none of its members volunteered their necks to have their heads lobbed off for dogma’s sake. None of his books — with the exception of The Tears of Eros — are quite as controversial as Story of the Eye. And the ending is spectacular and deliciously satisfying.
