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Return to Book Page. Preview — Frammenti di un discorso amoroso by Roland Barthes. Frammenti di un discorso amoroso by Roland Barthes. Un testo che racchiude tutto il fascino di una materia deteriorabile come l’amore nella sola struttura che ne possa evitare la banalizzazione: Con tre interviste all’autore, una nota biografica e la bibliografia essenziale.
PaperbackET Saggipages. Published February 1st by Einaudi first published To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Frammenti di un discorso amorosoplease sign up. Now I have the power. No need for a “? See 2 questions about Frammenti di un discorso amoroso…. Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia. Dear Roland, Can I call you Roland? Or do you prefer something else? I’m not gonna get into that. So, this book, this fucking book, is sexy.
It’s more than sexy. It’s sexy in all caps. It’s raw and wounded and sublime. It’s like theory suddenly got a heart, but not only a heart, a heart that is languishing under the power of love, a heart that might occasionally drink itself silly and smoke clove cigarettes and write rambling, fragmented, pained and intensely erotic emails to the Dear Roland, Can I call you Roland? It’s like theory suddenly got a heart, but not only a heart, a heart that is languishing under the power of love, a heart that might occasionally drink itself silly and smoke clove cigarettes and write rambling, fragmented, pained and intensely erotic emails to the one s it misses I’m projecting here.
Not only that, but the language becomes an organ of erotic and amorous extension, reaching out, carressing the possibility of the other. I can’t tell you really how important this book was for me.
I read it and the whole time I bit my lip and I just went hot damn, jeez, oooh, oh, oh, oh, oh, you know what I mean Roland? I even bought a copy of this book for a girl that I was kind of, well, not kind of very enamored with. It was an appropriate book because so much here has to do with the impossibility of desire and love. Maybe impossibility is the wrong word. Roland do you have the right word?
I think you probably do. And it’s probably in this book. I should read this book again. View all 3 comments.
It contains a list of “fragments”, some of which come from literature and some from his own philosophical thought, of a lover’s point of view. Barthes calls them “figures”—gestures of the lover at work. View all 6 comments. If there is any such thing as a good headache, then Roland Barthes has been successful in giving me one.
This was a heavy no, not the weight of the book, just heavy going, but in grandiose way! Simply put, these are his thoughts on love, in the form of short essays, If there is any such thing as a good headache, then Roland Barthes has been successful in giving me one. Simply put, these are his thoughts on love, in the form of short essays, each one covering the many different aspects of the romantic life.
Whether falling in, painfully letting go, or being completely smitten, head over heels in love, Barthes covers it. After each scene is formulated, Barthes subjects it to a philosophical battering of vigorous analysis, that constantly adds references from literary sources such as Goethe, Nietzsche, Freud, and Rilke, whilst throwing psychological and linguistic perspectives into the mix as well. Although flowing for the most part with a stream-of-consciousness, that does feel dense, and a little self indulgent, there can be no doubt as to its effectiveness throughout.
There was an emotional power to his prose, that, for anyone that ever loved, may be reminded, and forced to face up to moments from their own intimate past. Although this does require much mental effort that really sends one’s grey matter into overdrive especially for those not accustomed with philosophical writings Barthes strikes a cord deep within with a study of love that is subtle, rich in insight, penetrating the heart as well as the head. Barthes breaks down the human experience of love so effortlessly, but I’m not sure this led me to better understand love, as everyone has their own ways of perceiving it.
This was a beautiful and thought provoking read though, that was a pure delight to explore. View all 13 comments. I don’t get it RB: Rollo, how was the date?
Well how was it otherwise? I mean, there’s the expectation RB: I don’t even know if I would want to go RB: A month later, with X: I’m in love X: I haven’t seen either of you in a while RB: I wonder why he hasn’t called me? I’m actually super busy. I don’t want him to think that I think he is mad at me RB: I’d appreciate it RB: View all 5 comments. Centuries of authors, of philosophers, have tried to do so in vain.
There is always something left to be said.
Frammenti di un discorso amoroso: : Roland Barthes: Books
As in death, love is a topic of infinite discourse. As Tolstoy echoes in the mouth of Anna Karenina ‘s titular heroine: What Barth “Love” seems to me something which is impossible to define, to grasp. What Barthes offers is not a definition of Love, but what it is to be a Lover. A Lover’s Discourse is a masterful fugue of personal experience, literary precedence, and theoretical musing, which evokes emotion in the same pitch as a novel, but elicits introspection with the intellectual skepticism of Hamlet.
As a piece representative of the Barthesian oeuvre, A Lover’s Discourse straddles the duality of speech and meaning, of what it means to be a lover, but also the very discourse of love. The book itself is divided pell-mell into short fragments related to the amorous phraseology: It is the layered language of love which interests Barthes: Though the semiotic approach to love seems distant and cold, it is the inverse which we feel when reading Barthes, whose very language moves the reader to a shudder of feeling: Am I in love?
Frammenti di un discorso amoroso
The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn’t wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover’s fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits. Perhaps this book, novelistic essay or essayistic novel, must be read in one’s prime, when one is in the throes of passion, to feel the full emotional impact – I do not know if this is the case.
As a young man I am always on the precipice of romantic disaster, only in utter solitude, removed from all passionate enterprises, do I feel free from the pharmacopoeia half-poison, half-remedy of love. Bliss and misery are the Janus faces of life, in love, in solitude, we cannot have one without the other, even if they only look at us in turns.
The world subjects every enterprise to an alternative; that of success or failure, of victory or defeat Flouted in my enterprise as it happensI emerge from it neither victor nor vanquished: Love, life, and death, are infinite, they are the lands of contradictions, beyond the capacity of language.
What is both bliss and misery? What is the concatenation of victory and failure?
How does die and yet endure? At these interstices of language lies the barthhes truths of Love. What does it mean to be in love? It is a notion idealized and raised on high by all men, it is the apparent culmination of our lives. But with Love comes pain. For Barthes Love is inseparable from Jealousy: