Hélène Cixous
Author of Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing
About the Author
Born in 1937 in Algeria, Helene Cixous came to Paris, where she is currently professor of English, in 1955. After a dissertation on James Joyce, The Exile of James Joyce (1968), she began to publish novels, critical essays, and plays, most notably Le Portrait de Dora (1976), a feminist retelling of show more a Freudian case history. Jacques Derrida has named Helene Cixous the greatest contemporary French writer. Cixous has been an active participant in the development of literary criticism after structuralism and has been a leading figure in the French feminist movement. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
Image credit: Hélène Cixous foto by Sara Gordan
Works by Hélène Cixous
The Writing Notebooks of Helene Cixous (Athlone Contemporary European Thinkers Series) (2004) 30 copies
The Terrible but Unfinished Story of Norodom Sihanouk, King of Cambodia (European Women Writers) (1986) 28 copies, 1 review
White Ink: Interviews on Sex, Text, and Politics (European Perspectives: A Series in Social Thought and Cultural Criticism) (2008) 25 copies, 1 review
Politics, Ethics and Performance: Hélène Cixous and the Théâtre du Soleil (Anamnesis) (2016) 3 copies
Le tablier de Simon Hantaï [Texte imprimé] : Annagrammes ; Suivi de H.C. S.H : lettres (2005) 3 copies
L'Indiade, ou, L'Inde de leurs reves: Et quelques ecrits sur le theatre (French Edition) (1987) 1 copy
Prénoms de personne 1 copy
Angst 1 copy
Souffles 1 copy
Rouen, la trentième nuit de mai '31 [Villeneuve-lès-Avignon, 18 juillet 2001] (GALILEE) (2001) 1 copy
Lengua por venir / Langue à venir: Seminario de Barcelona (Ακαδημεια) (Spanish and French Edition) (2004) 1 copy
HIPERSUE¥O 1 copy
Associated Works
An Algerian Childhood: A Collection of Autobiographical Narratives (1997) — Author — 29 copies, 1 review
HOW(ever), Vol. VI, No. 1, January 1990 — Contributor — 1 copy
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Cixous, Hélène
- Legal name
- Cixous, Hélène
- Other names
- Cixous, Helene
- Birthdate
- 1937-06-05
- Gender
- female
- Education
- Lycée Lakanal
University of Bordeaux - Occupations
- professor
critic
novelist
playwright
philosopher
autobiographer (show all 7)
feminist - Organizations
- University of Paris VIII
Northwestern University
University of Bordeaux
University of Nanterre
European Graduate School, Saas-Fee, Switzerland - Awards and honors
- Légion d'Honneur (1994)
Ordre national du Mérite (1998) - Relationships
- Derrida, Jacques (friend)
- Short biography
- Hélène Cixous was born in Oran, Algeria, to Jewish parents. Her mother was a refugee from Nazi Germany, and her father came from a family that had reached Algeria after expulsion of Jews from Spain. Hélène, who never thought she was at home in Algeria, often draws on her own and her family's circumstances and life experiences with colonialism and anti-Semitism in her work. She attended secondary school in Algiers. In 1955, she married Guy Berger, a philosophy teacher, with whom she had three children. The couple moved to Paris, where she attended the Lycée Lakanal, in which she was the only North African student in her class. The following year, her husband was assigned a teaching position in Bordeaux, where she began to prepare for the agrégation (highest level teachers' exam) in English literature. She obtained a secondary school teaching diploma in English and then the agrégation soon afterwards. In 1960, she began to work on a thesis on James Joyce and in 1962 was named assistant teacher at the University of Bordeaux. In Paris, she met Jacques Derrida, another Jewish-Algerian-French intellectual. Their talks on James Joyce were the beginning of a lifelong friendship. They co-authored several books and texts on each other's work. In 1963, she made her first trip to the USA, where she did research on Joyce's manuscripts and met Jacques Lacan, with whom she worked regularly on Joyce. In 1964, Hélène and her husband divorced, and a year later she became assistant lecturer at the Sorbonne. In 1967, she published her first book of fiction, Le Prénom du Dieu (God’s First Name) and was appointed full professor at the University of Nanterre. She was charged by the Ministry of Education with creating the experimental University of Paris VIII. Under her leadership, a number of exiled Latin-American writers and groundbreaking scholars such as Gérard Genette, Tzvetan Todorov, and Michel Foucault received teaching positions. With Genette and Todorov, she launched the journal Poétique in 1968. That same year, she finally defended her thesis on James Joyce and earned her Ph.D. She then was named professor of English literature at Paris VIII and won the prestigious Prix Médicis for her second book of fiction, Dedans (Inside). In 1974, she set up the first doctoral program in women’s studies in Europe. In 1975, she published her first play, Portrait de Dora (Portrait of Dora), which was critically acclaimed and ran for a year at the Théâtre d’Orsay. Over the next two decades, she became internationally recognized, and received numerous prestigious awards, including one for helping to promote the works of the Jewish-Russian-Brazilian writer Clarice Lispector. She published some 70 works, including 23 volumes of poems, six books of essays, five plays, and numerous scholarly articles. She lectured in Europe, the UK, and the USA. In 1989, she collaborated on the film La Nuit Miraculeuse (The Miraculous Night). She published a series of autobiographical books, exploring relatives and places from her childhood. In 2008, she was appointed Professor-at-Large at Cornell University.
- Nationality
- France
- Birthplace
- Oran, Algeria
- Places of residence
- Oran, Algeria
Paris, France
Bordeaux, Gironde, Nouvelle-Aquitaine, France - Associated Place (for map)
- France
Members
Reviews
I completely fell for this book, which from the start felt almost like prose poetry. Had I not have read Proust, though, I might've been confused at times—and I know my understanding would've benefited from much greater familiarity with Poe's work. Still: I think it's the *way* Cixous describes or admits to or delves into fears and anxieties and so much more that makes a grasp of the literary references almost secondary, where sheer enjoyment at immersing myself in the text is concerned.
I am not forgetting that each time I call him, designate him, paradigmatically by this name of Derrida, I make as if I knew whom I was talking about or what whereas not at all, I know so little, and in the instant there is one of them, another one, there are so many ones in him that are dissembled beginning with resemblances that ephemeral but vivid but tenuous, and each one uniquely him. 'You know me a little' he says.
This was such an astonishing journey. Should we begin with the title, show more which was Derrida's puny punny name for Cixous? Emergng with similar origins and faiths, both were allowed to simmer and saunter over a lifetime: aside form the predilections, there were/are forces at play which allowed (encouraged?) this philosophical conspiracy. This book straddles elegy and eulogy and somehow escapes the sum. It is constructed with imagined dialogues, stream-of-conscious prose poems and excerpts from texts. It offers the shadow of an altar (alter?) but Inister is only a dream's punch line. This is a haunting text: as it reveals it circles back to an always already appreciation, keeping that impossible distance. I feel fortunate to have spent a day with it. show less
This was such an astonishing journey. Should we begin with the title, show more which was Derrida's puny punny name for Cixous? Emergng with similar origins and faiths, both were allowed to simmer and saunter over a lifetime: aside form the predilections, there were/are forces at play which allowed (encouraged?) this philosophical conspiracy. This book straddles elegy and eulogy and somehow escapes the sum. It is constructed with imagined dialogues, stream-of-conscious prose poems and excerpts from texts. It offers the shadow of an altar (alter?) but Inister is only a dream's punch line. This is a haunting text: as it reveals it circles back to an always already appreciation, keeping that impossible distance. I feel fortunate to have spent a day with it. show less
If Kafka had been a woman. If Rilke had been born a Jewish Brazilian born in the Ukraine. If Rimbaud had been a mother, if he had reached the age of fifty. If Heidegger had been able to stop being German, if he written the Romance of the Earth.
Thus Cixous waxes on Clarice Lispector. Lispector is a recurring theme throughout this collection of essays. Her first bane becomea becalmed verb. I have always wanted to read Lispector and these essays didn't really affect that. I liked Stigmata much show more more than Coming To Writing, though the titular piece does reach the incredible. Cixous broaches other arts here, music and painting and I was left unable to prosper. Underfunded and footsore. So it goes. When you're down and out.
There appears to be two thrusts of Cixous' work: the "fictional" narrative pieces and these more abrupt meditations. I am not sure where to place her works on Derrida: somewhere outside of genre walls, clinging to hyphens entwined in great vats of distilled bliss. That would be my technical assessment, anyway. show less
Thus Cixous waxes on Clarice Lispector. Lispector is a recurring theme throughout this collection of essays. Her first bane becomea becalmed verb. I have always wanted to read Lispector and these essays didn't really affect that. I liked Stigmata much show more more than Coming To Writing, though the titular piece does reach the incredible. Cixous broaches other arts here, music and painting and I was left unable to prosper. Underfunded and footsore. So it goes. When you're down and out.
There appears to be two thrusts of Cixous' work: the "fictional" narrative pieces and these more abrupt meditations. I am not sure where to place her works on Derrida: somewhere outside of genre walls, clinging to hyphens entwined in great vats of distilled bliss. That would be my technical assessment, anyway. show less
Hélène CixousOh but people! But but but but... people! Wake up! Don't let your lethargic willingness to give in to the maddening inertia of air conditioned rooms filled with post-structuralist slack-jawed graduate students blind you to the fucking truth, man! For we have show more here one of the greatest (still living!) writers of fiction/fact/creative nonfiction/poetry/poetic essay (whatever this book happens to be, I don't even know). Maybe her academic theoretical work is great also. I have no idea. I've only read this one book. But whatever your thoughts on that are, don't pigeonhole her as an academic or theoretician, because this book is so much more, it's a writer's book, and everything I look for in the best of my reading experience: warmth, humor, sensuality, language, poetry, philosophy, inventiveness, playfulness, emotion, messiness, unruliness, surprise, craziness.
Region: Western Philosophy.
School: French feminism.
Main interests: Literary criticism. [...]
"She has published over 70 works; her fiction, dramatic writing and poetry, however, are not often read in English" -- Wikipedia
"The word mum still fascinates us, it's a gem, as if we had kept a milk tooth. This can only be said in all modesty. I myself say mum to my son or daughter and we murmur Rimbaud in amongst the broom flowers between fables and seas."What is this book about? Well, I don't really know. It's about so many things. But on some very concrete level it's about Hélène Cixous opening up a box that she finds in her cupboard. Which I guess goes to show that a great writer can write about anything and make it great. This was not an easy read, but it was so pleasurable that I didn't mind re-reading many passages over again to understand them. Also, I'm sure my understanding is only partial: she alludes to so many other works, as well as personal things that I feel like I'm not even supposed to know.
There is none more cast out by happiness than he who discovers its doorway. On the one hand the subject surpasses the teller. On the other the teller snuffs out the subject upon which he breathes. And yet how can one not want to be surpassed?I am not saying this book is poetic. Because even though it is, it is also not. Not in that typical lyrical way. It is very down to earth and personal, I just mean that she has a very particular way of saying things that makes me have to constantly catch my breath.
"For me, theory does not come before, to inspire, it does not precede, does not dictate, but rather it is a consequence of my text, which is at its origin philosophico-poetical, and it is a consequence in the form of compromise or urgent necessity. [...] Never has a theory inspired my poetic texts. It is my poetic text that sits down from time to time on a bench or else at a café table - that's what I am in the process of doing at this moment by the way - to make itself heard in univocal, more immediately audible terms. In other words, it is always a last resort for me." -- an interviewI was not surprised when I read that quote. I get the sense even from this non-theory book that she writes in order to think instead of the other way around. For this reason, even though there are many ideas in this book, I would not lump it in with other idea books. Even novels of ideas (like that excellent [b:Mosley book|147493|Impossible Object|Nicholas Mosley|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1348227259s/147493.jpg|142346] I just finished) seem more like an explication of an already fully formed vision. Whereas for Cixous, the vision is always formed in the writing. The struggle to say what she means is also the meaning of what she says.
This creates a deeply maddening, sometimes repetitive, highly entertaining and insightful struggle as you're reading it. It doesn't hurt that her style, on the sentence to sentence level, is also messy, full of clauses, sometimes ungrammatical, with made up words or words jammed together in playful ways. It's like one big brainstorm of words. It's wonderful, and it's confusing, but it actually makes sense, it's actually crystal clear and enlightening when you follow her thought.
The Serpent Oblivion devours my lions one after the other. Sated. What's left is the Serpent full of lions. When will the Serpent's Serpent come? At the end of death when the dead are dead, says Poe to Baudelaire, the teeth are left. As soon as you are foolhardy enough to think of them, they rise up and bite.One last note. Please read/re-read these Poe stories before you read this book, as they are referenced at times in minute detail:
The Gold-Bug
William Wilson
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
The Purloined Letter show less
Awards
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Statistics
- Works
- 140
- Also by
- 14
- Members
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- Popularity
- #10,632
- Rating
- 3.8
- Reviews
- 23
- ISBNs
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