RisiaSkye
Artistic
- Joined
- May 1, 2000
- Posts
- 4,387
Okay, I confess: I'm an academic. I realize that this makes me, by definition (for many), duller than a box of Kleenex, so I try not to bring it into the light too often.
However, I'm working on a paper on epistolary novels of the 18th century, and the construction of female sexuality in terms of violence within them. And, in the course of my research, I'm discovering a very interesting thing:
Sexual submission, Domination, and violence go way back in our westernized literature. I've read, far too many times, that de Sade and Masoch are basically held accountable for the expression of such tendencies, but I'm realizing more and more that it's a huge myth. Why do we call it Sadism? Well, because of de Sade, of course. Why do we call it Masochism? Well, because of Masoch, of course. Didn't they start it? As it turns out--NO, they didn't.
What, given the assumptions which infuse even the naming (S&M) of what we do, should we make of something like the following?:
"So tell me, my faint-hearted swain, do you really think that all those women you've had were raped? Nevertheless, however keen we are to give ourselves and however quickly we'd like it to happen, we still need some pretext. And can you tell me a more convenient one than seeming to submit to force? Let me be honest: for me one of the most gratifying things is a sharp, well-conducted assault in which everything takes place in the proper order but smartly, so that we're never placed in the tiresome and awkward predicament of having to overlook technical weaknesses which we ought really to have taken advantage of; which retains a semblance of violence even when we've given up the fight, and is skilful enough to satisfy our two favourite passions, a glorious resistance followed by a pleasurable defeat. I agree that such a gift, rarer than most people think, has always afforded me gratification, even when it hasn't made me lose my head, so that at times I've given in purely in recognition of a good performance. Rather like the tournaments of olden days when Beauty awarded the prize for skill and valour."
--letter 10, from the Marquise de Merteuil to the Viscomte de Valmont (emphasis mine); Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Choderlos de Laclos, 1781.
Bear in mind that de Laclos wrote this novel more than a decade before de Sade's most widely read and loudly scorned work, the BDSM epistolary (letters) novel Justine. Other, similarly themed, texts that I'm studying go back at least as far as the turn of the century--before de Sade was even born, in other words.
The Marquise de Merteuil is a figure that a BDSM crowd can readily recognize as a Domme. In the social context of the 18th century, the libertine woman was subject to public scorn at best, so she uses her masochistic tendencies to couch her sexual domination of men in a spider-web of pretended resistance, discouraging her conquests from outing her as a sexual adventurer. Yet, despite this facade, she controls her interactions with all, and ultimately is undone only by her weakness--and a kind of submission--for/to the equally Dom Viscomte de Valmont. Their sexual mastery of others is the fabric of the text, and their dalliances with others are largely readable as an extended power struggle with each other, a struggle to determine who will ultimate be Dom/me in their relationship.
In the end, the two Dominants are undone by falling too deeply in love with their submissives and out of love with each other--but they face different fates. Valmont, classified by the text as a roue (a french term for "rake" or "cad" which also translates as one broken on the wheel by torture), morally "redeems" himself by dying to defend the honor of the masochistic penitent he's made his submissive. Merteuil, on the other hand, is outed as a "fallen woman," loses her money, gets smallpox, becomes hideous, and is forced to flee the country. The broken Dom dies and is revered; the broken Domme is disgraced, disowned, and turned away but does not die. Curiouser and curiouser.
It's also interesting to note that de Laclos (the author) was a military strategist, died a full General, and faced massive public scorn for the text, but he never either denied his connection to it or expressed remorse at having done so. Further, because of the epistolary form, and a bizarre editor's note which attributed Laclos as the editor rather than author, it was read as a completely true story by his contemporaries.
This story continues to be immensely popular today--if you've seen Dangerous Liaisons, Valmont, Cruel Intentions or any number of other works based on it, you already know the story. It's part of our cultural fabric, as much today as ever.
Interesting, yes?
Or am I just doing way too much scholarly crap lately?
Sexual submission, Domination, and violence go way back in our westernized literature. I've read, far too many times, that de Sade and Masoch are basically held accountable for the expression of such tendencies, but I'm realizing more and more that it's a huge myth. Why do we call it Sadism? Well, because of de Sade, of course. Why do we call it Masochism? Well, because of Masoch, of course. Didn't they start it? As it turns out--NO, they didn't.
What, given the assumptions which infuse even the naming (S&M) of what we do, should we make of something like the following?:
"So tell me, my faint-hearted swain, do you really think that all those women you've had were raped? Nevertheless, however keen we are to give ourselves and however quickly we'd like it to happen, we still need some pretext. And can you tell me a more convenient one than seeming to submit to force? Let me be honest: for me one of the most gratifying things is a sharp, well-conducted assault in which everything takes place in the proper order but smartly, so that we're never placed in the tiresome and awkward predicament of having to overlook technical weaknesses which we ought really to have taken advantage of; which retains a semblance of violence even when we've given up the fight, and is skilful enough to satisfy our two favourite passions, a glorious resistance followed by a pleasurable defeat. I agree that such a gift, rarer than most people think, has always afforded me gratification, even when it hasn't made me lose my head, so that at times I've given in purely in recognition of a good performance. Rather like the tournaments of olden days when Beauty awarded the prize for skill and valour."
--letter 10, from the Marquise de Merteuil to the Viscomte de Valmont (emphasis mine); Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Choderlos de Laclos, 1781.
Bear in mind that de Laclos wrote this novel more than a decade before de Sade's most widely read and loudly scorned work, the BDSM epistolary (letters) novel Justine. Other, similarly themed, texts that I'm studying go back at least as far as the turn of the century--before de Sade was even born, in other words.
The Marquise de Merteuil is a figure that a BDSM crowd can readily recognize as a Domme. In the social context of the 18th century, the libertine woman was subject to public scorn at best, so she uses her masochistic tendencies to couch her sexual domination of men in a spider-web of pretended resistance, discouraging her conquests from outing her as a sexual adventurer. Yet, despite this facade, she controls her interactions with all, and ultimately is undone only by her weakness--and a kind of submission--for/to the equally Dom Viscomte de Valmont. Their sexual mastery of others is the fabric of the text, and their dalliances with others are largely readable as an extended power struggle with each other, a struggle to determine who will ultimate be Dom/me in their relationship.
In the end, the two Dominants are undone by falling too deeply in love with their submissives and out of love with each other--but they face different fates. Valmont, classified by the text as a roue (a french term for "rake" or "cad" which also translates as one broken on the wheel by torture), morally "redeems" himself by dying to defend the honor of the masochistic penitent he's made his submissive. Merteuil, on the other hand, is outed as a "fallen woman," loses her money, gets smallpox, becomes hideous, and is forced to flee the country. The broken Dom dies and is revered; the broken Domme is disgraced, disowned, and turned away but does not die. Curiouser and curiouser.
It's also interesting to note that de Laclos (the author) was a military strategist, died a full General, and faced massive public scorn for the text, but he never either denied his connection to it or expressed remorse at having done so. Further, because of the epistolary form, and a bizarre editor's note which attributed Laclos as the editor rather than author, it was read as a completely true story by his contemporaries.
This story continues to be immensely popular today--if you've seen Dangerous Liaisons, Valmont, Cruel Intentions or any number of other works based on it, you already know the story. It's part of our cultural fabric, as much today as ever.
Interesting, yes?
Or am I just doing way too much scholarly crap lately?