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Quote by Clemens Pornschlegel

“Befangen in arg konventionellen Vorstellungen von "guter Literatur", ist Rinaldi und Naulleau offenbar noch nie aufgegangen, dass Houellebecqs Kunstgriff genau darin besteht, jede Art von korruptem Literaturgetue aus seinen Texten bewusst zu eliminieren, um stattdessen eine mausgraue Angestelltenprosa diesseits des akademischen Kunst- und Bildungsbetriebs zu erfinden. Die Stillosigkeit, die Houellebecq für sich in Anspruch nimmt und die ihm von Mitgliedern der Académie française natürlich übel genommen wird, ist deswegen kein Mangel. Sie ist vielmehr ein Verfahren, dem geschwätzigen Betrieb der Hochliteratur zu entgehen. Und zwar genau dorthin, wo den Kritikern nur noch Naserümpfen bleibt: in die Bahnhofskioske und Supermarktregale. Dort werden Bücher in der Tat nicht fürs Regal und für den sozialen Distinktionsgewinn erworben, sondern zum richtigen Lesen. Proust gegen Houellebecq auszuspielen, wie Angelo Rinaldi es tut, ist nicht nur billig, es ist von bestürzender Begriffsstutzigkeit. Im Übrigen zeugt es von eher bescheidener Kenntnis des Werks und seiner Zusammenhänge. Dass der "Bahnhofsliterat" kluge Einleitungen zu Auguste Comtes "Allgemeiner Religionstheorie" verfasst hat, geht im aufgeregten Invektivenhagel unter.”

Quote by Clemens Pornschlegel

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Clemens Pornschlegel

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“Houellebecq has created a new genre—the dystopian conversion tale. Submission is not the story some expected of an armed coup d’état, and no one in it expresses hatred or even contempt of Muslims. At one level it is simply about a man who through suffering and indifference finds himself slouching toward Mecca. At another level, though, it is about a civilization that after centuries of a steady, almost imperceptible sapping of inner conviction finds itself doing the same thing. The literature of civilizational decline, to which Zemmour’s Le Suicide français is a minor contribution, is typically brash and breathless. Not so Submission. There is not even drama here—no clash of spiritual armies, no martyrdom, no final conflagration. Stuff just happens, as in all Houellebecq’s fiction. All one hears at the end is a bone-chilling sigh of collective relief. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. Whatever.”

“El amor, el amor En un cine porno, unos jubilados cascados Contemplaban, escépticos, Los retozos mal filmados de dos lascivas parejas; No había argumento. He ahí, pensaba yo, el rostro del amor, El auténtico rostro. Algunos son seductores, y seducirán siempre, Y el resto sobrevive. No existe ni el destino ni la fidelidad, Sólo cuerpos que se atraen. Sin sentir ningún apego ni, desde luego, piedad, Uno juega, y después destroza. Algunos son seductores y por lo tanto muy amados; Sabrán lo que es un orgasmo. Pero hay tantos otros cansados y sin nada que ocultar, Ni siquiera un fantasma. Si acaso, una soledad agravada por la impúdica Alegría de las mujeres; Si acaso, una certeza: “eso no es para mí”, Un oscuro y pequeño drama. Con certeza morirán un poco desengañados, Sin ilusiones poéticas; Practicarán a conciencia el arte de despreciarse, Será algo mecánico. Me dirijo a todo aquel que nunca haya sido amado, Que nunca supo gustar; Me dirijo a los ausentes del sexo liberado, Y del placer corriente. No teman amigos, su pérdida es mínima: El amor no existe en ninguna parte. Sólo es una broma cruel de la que ustedes son víctimas, Una jugada de experto.”

“But why give a man something it's so hard to earn? In that respect women are really thick. They're the daughters of rigidity. They need a man to feel secure but they don't realize that the one thing they should be afraid of is men. They don't know how to run their lives. They have to sacrifice themselves for the sake of someone else. Whores are the worst, patron, believe me. They throw their lives away working for some pimp, smile when he beats them, feel proud when he's well dressed, with his gold teeth and rings on his fingers, and when he goes off and takes up with a woman half their age they forgive him everything because 'he's a man.”

“It's hard to explain to Tiana that her feelings about this aren't indicative of what a great guy her 'daddy' is but rather an indictment against how awful all the adults in her life have been...If you haven't had proper love and care, then a substitute will feel like the real thing, because you've got nothing to compare it to. For Tiana, whose entire fifteen years on the earth have been filled with physical violence, neglect, and horrific abuse, this analogy doesn't really make sense. Her 'daddy' is the first person who's shown her any type of kindness, who's modeled what a 'real' family looks like- even though after dinner he takes her and the other girls out and sells them on the street.”

“In any East Asian culture, you will find that women have a very tangible power within the household. This is often rejcted by non-Asian feminists who argue that it is not real power, but.. Japanese women look at the low status attributed to the domestic labor of housewives in North America and feel that this amounts to a denigration of a fundamental social role - whether it is performed by a man or a woman.”