Organized thematically, this four-volume collection explores the key areas of structuralism - and with a new introduction by the editor to guide the reader through the work, this is an essential collection of secondary sources that provides a valuable tool for research. Taking as their methodological model the successes of the structural linguistics inaugurated by Ferdinand de Saussure, a group of thinkers in such fields as anthropology, literary and cultural studies, sociology and philosophy developed ambitious programs for the interdisciplinary study (...) of the systems by which human beings make the world intelligible. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Baudelaire’s Satanic VersesJonathan Culler (bio)Paul Verlaine was perhaps the first to declare the centrality of Baudelaire to what we may now call modern French studies: Baudelaire’s profound originality is to “représenter puissament et essentiellement l’homme moderne” [599–600]. Whether Baudelaire embodies or portrays modern man, Les Fleurs du mal is seen as exemplary of modern experience, of the possibility of experiencing or dealing with what, taking Paris as the exemplary (...) modern city, we have come to call the modern world. T. S. Eliot wrote, “Baudelaire is indeed the greatest exemplar in modern poetry in any language, for his verse and language is the nearest thing to a complete renovation that we have experienced. But his renovation of an attitude towards life is no less radical and no less important” [426]. And outside the field of literature we find such affirmations as Harold Rosenberg’s dating of “the tradition of the New” to Baudelaire, “who exactly one hundred years ago invited fugitives from the too-narrow world of memory to come aboard with him in search of the new” [11]. Baudelaire, writes another critic, “did more than anyone else in the nineteenth century to make the men and women of his century aware of themselves as moderns.... If we had to nominate a first modernist, Baudelaire would surely be the man” [Berman 132–33].There seems to be considerable agreement on this point, but, surprisingly, there is great difference of opinion about what it is that makes Baudelaire modern and worthy of special attention. Is it, as Albert Thibaudet and Walter Benjamin argue, that he was the first true poet of the city, the first to take the alienated experience of life in the modern city as the norm? Or is it, as Leo Bersani claims, that Baudelaire discovered and displayed the mobility of fantasy and of the desiring imagination? Or is it, as Paul de Man maintains, that Baudelaire invents modern self-consciousness about poetry itself, producing poems that allegorically expose the operations of the lyric?There are many competing accounts of what is most particularly modern and important about Baudelaire, but the one thing on which contentious critics seem to agree is that there is a side of Baudelaire that is of no interest today, that belongs to a bas romantisme and is the very antithesis of Baudelaire’s modernity, of Baudelaire the founder of modern poetry: this is the Baudelaire who invokes demons and the Devil. Most critics today pass over this in silence, but even those who explicitly address this Baudelaire seem to find him an embarrassment. Even the author of a book entitled The Demonic Imagination: Style and Theme in French Romantic Poetry begins his chapter on Baudelaire: “Baudelaire has, by now, ceased to interest us for the reasons which once appeared important: his diabolical Catholicism is a familiar, historical mode of sensibility which neither shocks nor has morbid appeal...” [Houston 85]. And Fredric Jameson distinguishes the modernist and the postmodernist Baudelaires—both worthy of our attention—from what he calls the “second-rate post-Romantic Baudelaire, the Baudelaire [End Page 86] of diabolism and of cheap frisson, the poet of blasphemy and of a creaking and musty religious machinery that was no more interesting in the mid-nineteenth century than it is today” [427].But Baudelaire called his collection “Les Fleurs du mal” and opens it with a poem that declares, “C’est le Diable qui tient le fils qui nous remuent [it’s the Devil who holds the strings that move us]” [OC 1: 5; FE 5]. Can this be dismissed as an irrelevancy—something mistakenly appended to this quintessentially modern poetry? That critics of such different orientations should agree in shunting aside the Satanic Baudelaire suggests that there is something worth investigating here, something disquieting and embarrassing, which may not in fact be merely trivial—which may complicate the story of modernity that has come to depend on Baudelaire as its originator. Perhaps the Satanic Baudelaire would tell us things about modernity we don’t want to know.Certainly the idea of the Devil seems fundamentally at odds with accounts of modernity. Even Christianity itself seems to... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:PrefaceMost of the papers in this special issue of Diacritics were presented at a conference on the future of French studies organized at Cornell University with a special grant from the Office of the President, Hunter Rawlings III. The charge to the speakers was less to reflect on the situation of French studies in the American academy than to offer possibilities for the future, whether through programmatic argument or (...) illustration of the sort of work that might be undertaken under the banner of French studies. The editors have substituted for two papers from the conference that were already committed elsewhere two new papers from colleagues engaged in French studies at Cornell.The ongoing arguments about the future of French studies seem riven by a conflict of motives and aims. There are those who wish to confirm the dissolution of any fetishized notion of Frenchness, insisting on the multiplicity of francophonies and the fragmenting effects of globalization on anything that claims to be a specifically French identity. Conversely, there are those who promote French studies precisely as the defense of an irreducible specificity of things French, which is threatened by changes in the university and in the world and which the new field of French studies might have a chance of preserving. If these are not the options that our contributors embrace, it is not because they are insensible of their attractions—or of the beguiling possibility of combining them, by defining that essential Frenchness, to be pursued or preserved, as the dissolution of the idea of an essential Frenchness.One of the general aims of these papers is to promote and illustrate possibilities for novel kinds of reading and writing and for inventive modes of interdisciplinary study, which make French studies a lively field for students and teachers. But if there is a single substantial theme that runs through them all, it may be the mundane concern that Tom Conley calls “wondering what can be done to invigorate one of the richest of all literary canons.” How does that canon respond to the kinds of questions and issues that the unraveling and dissolution of boundaries—including those of France itself—have made possible? And should French studies, in the end, be conceived as the integration of the numerous interdisciplinary trajectories that depart from or traverse this canon or as a more distinctively specific practice for the study of everything French that is structured like a language?Copyright © 1999 The Johns Hopkins University Press... (shrink)