Book Review — Manifestoes of Surrealism
When Nothing is Right, Go Left!
From disappointments comes the desire to change reality. Clearly, that’s what triggered Andre Breton, one of the most aspiring poets of France of the 1920s, to start a movement that soon became much bigger than himself, not to mention his working field of poetry. Surrealism became a word synonymous with paintings of the unreal, with the likes of Salvador Dali and Max Ernst, yet few apart from specialists would acknowledge its origin in the field of poetic writing, let alone the efforts of its father.
Breton was, like his contemporaries, a product of his turbulent times. The last decades of the nineteenth century and the first of the twentieth were quite transitive in the experience of humanity as a whole when it comes to the shifting technologies, which transformed the way we live, or the theoretical understanding of the universe, which transformed the way we perceive things. It was a time of hope as well as a time of despair, both of which are the main ingredients of Surrealism.
Thus, Surrealism by itself was a manifestation of contradictions: of war and peace, of science and spirituality, and, perhaps more importantly, of collectivism and individualism. The name itself gives sense of such contradiction. It’s not a mere fantasy that is at odds with reality; rather, it’s one level above reality, where contradictions don’t matter anymore. In a way, it is the ultimate contradiction of contradictions.
In the years post First World War, hope was arising that humans have learned from the atrocities of the past, yet the conditions produced by this war were only building grudges underneath that are still felt to this day. Breton somehow reflected such understanding early on in his activism to get the movement moving. Heavily influenced by thinkers of the previous century, especially Rimbaud, Freud, and Darwin, he saw a flaw in reality itself and not our perception of it. For him, it was about time to go one step further, into the realm of possibility, where neither war nor peace makes any sense anymore, a realm where the sum of all individual consciousness — or to be more precise, sub-consciousness — is a single collective awareness in a dream-like state, a “Collective Myth”.
Granted, Breton wasn’t the first one to come with the ideals of Surrealism, but it’s fair to say he was the first to formalize them. He didn’t hide his source as he gave credit where credit was due, yet he dealt with Surrealism as it was his offspring and he was its over-protective father. One of the main ideals he formalized was that in surreal works no one is the creator, rather only a discoverer; that the ideas expressed surreally do not belong to an individual. Ironically, that didn’t apply to his work on the defense of Surrealism, because, as it sounds, whenever he was attacking reality, he was expressing his opinion in the realm of reality as well. Or was he?
Each of Breton’s manifestoes starts with a preface of his in which he seems to be regretful of the tone he used in the manifesto to come, usually attributing it to the context of the time, as well as the experience of age, or the lack thereof. To his credit, he stays to his surreal principals of not correcting the original work, even though the manifestoes are realistic writings per se.
The first of the manifestoes is so enthusiastic and informative about the new discovery of escaping — or maybe bypassing — reality, this time without the aid of drugs or sleep. He gives a detailed prescription of how to get into the state of surreal writing through “psychic automatism” (his own method of achieving the dream-like state) while stating some other methods used by others. He then gives several examples of the surreal sentence from prominent surrealists, including himself, followed by a poem, which is, more or less, a collage of excerpts from newspaper headlines structured as a poem. The manifesto leaves the question open of whether the surreal message conveys meaning as intended by the writer, even if subconsciously, or whether it is a meaning superimposed by the reader.
The real manifestation of Surrealism inside the book comes in the form of 32 short stories, or rather anecdotes, by the title “The Soluble Fish.” The work is a massive exercise of automatic writing, which should leave you amazed by the quality of the metaphors at times, and the persistence of symbolism and its allusions to reality at others, despite its author implying otherwise. Through it, one could get a sense of Breton’s recipe of surreal writing, including randomness, swapping the object with the subject, element of surprise, vaguely coherent outline, and the very subtle allusions to reality. Personally, I found this booklet quite amusing, albeit a bit hard to read.
Whether this exercise of automatic writing is random or whether it really has something heavy to say is, of course, left to the reader. Personally, I found the following gems full of rich imagery and subtle wisdom, a product of a burdened subconscious, rather than that of light randomness:
“I have played along with the music just for a second, and now I don’t know what to think of suicide, for if I want to separate myself from myself the exit is from this side and, I spitefully add, the entry, the reentry is on the other side.” — Soluble Fish, Chapter 2.
“We are the prisoners of the mechanical orgy pursued inside the earth, for we have dug mines, underground galleries through which we sneak in a band beneath the cities that we want to blow up.” — Soluble Fish, Chapter 7.
“…the blackboard which was to serve for demonstrations was represented by a very elegant young priest who I suppose celebrated the law of falling bodies as a mass is celebrated.” — Soluble Fish, Chapter 12.
“As I go on my way I may happen to fall from a precipice or be pursued by stones, but each time, I beg you to believe, it’s only a reality.” — Soluble Fish, Chapter 32.
Then comes the longest part of the book, the second manifesto, unfortunately. If one can pinpoint the midlife crisis of each writer by one of his works, this would definitely be Breton’s. A long preface not void of regret and shame, followed by much longer pages of childish jibes and creative name-calling, would make a very good read in a gossip magazine but not in an art book, let alone a very important one. Breton’s grudges against those who changed their minds towards Surrealism, or those who started to take on their own routes while outshining him, makes a very painful read almost void of any real substance. Almost.
Most of the information here is contextual to the time and the inner society of the ego-centric artists and intellectuals of the time. Nevertheless, Breton presents us a rather timeless idiocy through utterly attacking and harshly vilifying the practitioners in mental illness institutions, as well as announcing — without recommendation — that “the simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down into the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd.” He then goes on with elaborations that make less sense than his surreal writings, trying to detach morality from reality. Yet the later chapters, the more politicized ones, shed the much-needed light on the more mature character of Breton in his later years: more political, more mature, but not more compromising.
To understand Breton’s political motives, and thus his projections on the motives of the Surrealist movement, one must look closer at the later 30s of the 20th century, the years which include the rise of Hitler and Stalin amid the imminence of the Second World War. Both these turbulent times and the repercussions of the Russian revolution influenced revolutionary ideals among many intellectuals around the world who wanted more power to the people. In that sense, Breton saw Surrealism as a tool for that end: “we maintain that the activity of interpreting the world must continue to be linked with the activity of changing the world.” He makes clear that he is a communist by heart while criticizing the USSR for the totalitarianism of Stalin. His criticism of Hitler was rather more shy, which, I believe, should be attributed to the fact that there was no feeling of kinship with Germany; his only worry was that vilifying it may lead to the vilification of the German workers as well as the German legacy in arts and science. His loudest criticism, however, was saved to his own land, France.
Being anti-nationalistic, Breton didn’t pay much attention to the idiosyncrasies of the time as he didn’t follow the drumbeat for war. He was heavily critical of the way the West was dealing with Germany, and of how France and the USSR were getting closer in matters of war, and not peace. His speeches were pro-proletariat and critical of colleagues who would pursue money rather than principles. He was no more resorting to name-calling, rather just exposing the hypocrisies. Yet, one can’t help thinking how much he was connected to the grassroots movements of his time. He probably didn’t get dissolved in the process of Capitalism like his former colleagues, but he also sounded like disgruntled intellectual pointing fingers and giving orders from an ivory tower so high that no one can hear him…speaking of Surrealism.
Back to arts, Breton mentions proudly how Hegel considers poetry to be the most worthy form of arts, just before analyzing why it is inherently lacking in expression compared to others. He gives a very clear explanation of why poetry should grow away from form and rhythm, even further away from meaning, a process which he cleverly shows that other forms of art had already gone through. His anti-realists stance is best embodied in his attack of how the likes of Dostoyevski fill pages with very fine details leaving no room for imagination: “they are nothing but so many superimposed images taken from some stock catalog.” His clarification of what embodies a surreal object is informative and entertaining, albeit lacking examples, while his judgment of what is surreal and what is not sounds conservative and obsessive, even if justifiable at times. He pulled no punches criticizing the USSR’s obsession with codifying arts as he denounced all forms of propaganda poetry or writing according to a formula. Finally, his “Letter to Seers” is a fine example of quality mingling with reality and fantasy, including his best undertaking of the Surrealist justifications. In it, he addresses the Seers as exclusively female, saying ”even though you are women, it is time, I entreat you, to give up this passivity.” He then concludes his call for solidarity by summarizing the surreal state: “We no longer see this world as it is, we are absent.”
Breton spent most of his life rightfully worrying about the legacy of Surrealism. He held no punches in its defense while seeing it fading into other variations than what he had in mind. Surrealism as he knew it was all but dead by the time he died, but the movement is still alive and kicking in many of the works that are still being produced, which, despite their inherent flaws, emphasize the same strong contradictions in unison, which, in turn, create such strong metaphors that make us think outside the box of reality.
Manifestoes of Surrealism may not be the most polished or coherent of books, but isn’t it so with any surreal work for that matter?!
