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georgecurtis's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
inspiring
mysterious
reflective
sad
medium-paced
5.0
eduardtatomir's review against another edition
2.0
I don’t have many words for this book. It’s not my favourite read but it definitely had it’s beautiful moments.
frogwithlittlehammer's review against another edition
challenging
funny
reflective
slow-paced
4.5
L’amour est un chien de l’enfer (Bukowski). Qu'est-ce que l'enfer? Je soutiens que c'est la souffrance de ne pouvoir aimer (Dostoevsky). Tout ce que je comprends, je ne le comprends que parce que j'aime. Tout existe seulement parce que j'aime. Tout est lié par l'amour seul (Tolstoy). L’amour est une maladie qui n’a que l’amour pour remède (Joyce Carol Oates). Mais l’amour est aussi un langage. Et, selon Barthes, “le langage est une peau: je frotte mon langage contre l’autre. Comme si j’avais des mots en guise de doigts, ou des doigts au bout de mes mots.” Il y a beaucoup de bonnes citations dans le livre comme celles-ci, lesquelles te demandent bien, si on peut rationaliser l’amour, ou en revanche, pourquoi on choisit de pas le faire.
While it is technically about a deconstruction of love, as Eugenides’ Madeleine Hanna points out, it reads like a diary about love. More so however, for me, it proves how separate love and sex are. One of the sections that spoke to me the most was vérité, where you almost primarily desire knowing someone entièrement, and perhaps someone knowing you in all your truth as well. I think this is what love is, outside of the games and charades of waiting (another good section) and signs (yet another great section) and tears and lust. Parisians have a more heightened sense de l’amour—as La Rouchefoucald points out—because of the stories we are told about love. It becomes second nature, first skin, to express it in the streets. As if to say, yes! I am not the one who waits (non plus…)! I used to think I had a hand-on-the-stove like aversion to pda because j’avais la honte d’être tellement intime. Now, I think it’s because I still don’t understand why we equate love with physicality, and why we feel the need to profess it as such in public.
It relates a bit to the section, je-t-aime. We verbalize our love seeking only to hear a response in the affirmative, so that after the first time the phrase (which may as well be a word) is uttered, all meaning is lost. Which is hard to cope with, because all humans would like to do is find un moyen suffisant pour éprouver notre amour, malgré si c’est impossible, tu vois. (There were too many Freudisms on the subject cited in the book for my liking, but still it evokes an almost unsettling paradox.)
En tout cas, je blablate un peu maintenant. I plan to return to Fragments continuously over the future, as is required for any work of someone of Barthes’ magnitude.
casparb's review against another edition
5.0
Will I ever not give Barthes 5 stars?
Barthes provides an incredibly vivid, endlessly relatable text that manages to explain while romanticising - deconstruction with consecration.
I feel quite certain that this book could be used to explode or rescue any amorous pairing - given the appropriate intention. Barthes achieves something quite unique, which unsettles and reassures.
One cannot finish this book without a major change in perspective.
Barthes provides an incredibly vivid, endlessly relatable text that manages to explain while romanticising - deconstruction with consecration.
I feel quite certain that this book could be used to explode or rescue any amorous pairing - given the appropriate intention. Barthes achieves something quite unique, which unsettles and reassures.
One cannot finish this book without a major change in perspective.
aar505n's review against another edition
slow-paced
4.5
Gorgeous! I have so many little underlined quotes. Glad I took my time with this, slowly reading and rereading each fragment. Excellent writing and thought provoking ideas of love make for a fascinating book