Encyclopedia of Erotic Literature Book

You won't stick your hand down your bathing suit ever again after reading this. Bataille will see to that. And yet this author's misgivings about the erotic seem somehow misplaced. They serve as springboards to jump off on tangents. Our writer throws in a bunch of psychoanalysis, too, but only insofar as it gets us to the religious take on man's psychic esoterica.

But first let's look at what Bataille gets right.

He starts with "continuity," an aspiration that for humans is the essence of being. It's what we discontinuous beings want from sex, but our primordial emergence from animal to human marks the change from nature to culture. Taboos meant to deny our animal side quarantine both sex and death so that we can get work done. Death, and then sex, become a kind of psychic violence: Either involves a transgression of taboos; either violates the status quo of culture.

This transgression generates eroticism. Religion for its part transforms transgression into sin. Thus, the Catholic Church becomes the most able defender of our humanity, preserving eroticism by upholding taboos.

At the same time, our need to work turns people into objects for other people, and only our animal nature can stop that. Sexuality, then, is "the greatest barrier to the reduction of a man to the level of a thing." The erotic returns to humans their subjective dignity.

So the body becomes poetic and pure, and its erotic defilement is brought on by the sanctioned sin of marriage. Thus, the Church safeguards our dignity through its prohibitions.

Got that? Good. I'll buy it. But now Bataille starts to go off track.

Eroticism for him applies only to straight, married, pious males. He neither mentions nor acknowledges female sexuality, nor anything outside lawful relations. He wavers as to whether even this constricted eroticism is disgusting or not, but reaches no final verdict. This same waffling permeates most of his conclusions.

With sex equal to death, "man must die to live" he keeps telling us. He bases this on the enormous expenditure of energy the sex act requires, energy denied to work. Bataille makes death look good and sex bad -- he might as well be talking about salmon and spiders.

He hammers away at the energy wasted by sex, forgetting that intercourse takes just a few minutes, whereas humans usually work all day long. I can't tell what's more in play here, the Church or the vogue of psychoanalysis, but similar flights of fancy come up later in The Denial of Death, a dreadful ripoff of the same theme.

Bataille's discursive style gives his thinking a profound Hegelian veneer hinting of intellectual alacrity. But he seems to think Hegel grants us license to say just anything. His concept of eroticism is a floating abstraction backed up by hearsay upon hearsay, evidence like, "There is no reason to believe their [mystics'] experience is not genuine, according to people who know such practitioners."

As the book goes on a frank disgust for the erotic emerges. The author uses the better part of one page to denounce obscenity, which he finds to be the creation of a "repugnant" class of people "vomited forth" by society. This bourgeois writer slams the lower classes for letting whores take over the streets, accusing them of intending to destroy society, refusing to work and using the "advantages of insubordination" to slake their lust. Erotic thoughts disturb him. He draws on his Church for support, but I doubt Catholic theology espouses the level of revulsion over eroticism that his writing achieves.

Beyond the diatribes the writing is clunky, repetitive, indifferent and archaic ("venereal orgasms"). The psychoanalysis and anthropology are outdated, and the Catholic references are suspect. The truth is, this book has no bearing on anything today. It's hard to believe the author of Blue of Noon also wrote this flapdoodle, but I believe that's why I thought I'd like it.

Bataille is good at literature; he's bad at social commentary. I advise readers to skip this one.