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Blog Post #1: What is the “disaster”?

The Writing of the Disaster¬†by Maurice Blanchot is a confusing piece. Reading through it, I wasn’t quite sure what to call “disaster”. It still remains nameless. ¬†However, I can’t help but wonder, is”disaster” is a passionate word for love?

The very first paragraph can be dissected in many ways. “The disaster ruins everything, all the while leaving everything intact. It does not touch anyone in particular.” There is such ambiguity in this language. Here, the “disaster” does not scream “love” to the reader, but it does have an aura of volatility, a silent whisper that can shake the very canal of your ear. It can do damage without actually touching you. Now that I think about it, the opening to this novel may regard love as something that may not have been directly experience, but through others, it can be palpable enough to leave its mark. “It ruins everything, all the while leaving everything intact.”

Blanchot then says, “”I” and not threatened by it, but spared, left aside. It is in this way that I am threatened, it is in this way that the disaster threatens in me which is exterior to me – an other than I who passively become other”…what? I’m not if anyone else was as confused by this as I was. But there is a sense of contradiction. It’s almost like saying, “Love will grab you by the love handles and show you a whole new world, but in that world, there is also pain.” I don’t get it. It’s a good thing, but it is also an entity that will shake your entire being apart. However, at the same time, Blanchot might be discussing that although this “disaster” does not touch anyone in particular, it is random and one can be a victim at any time, and that is what’s frightening. “There is no reaching the disaster.” Yeah, until it grabs you by the loins.

“Out of reach is he whom it threatens, whether from afar or close up, it is impossible to say; the infiniteness of the threat has in some way broken every limit.” I think this sentence draws back to my earlier thought where the aura of volatility that irradiates “love”, which I presume to be the “disaster” is silently assaulting your soul. As a result of the rays that stretch from “love”, it breaks barriers and becomes more infinite than believe, and that is what I believe to be the most threatening part of it all. I think this may be the threat that Blanchot is so cautious of in this first paragraph.

“We are on the edge of disaster without being able to situate it in the future…” One doesn’t know when love will come about, and that is what puts everyone at the edge. At any moment, one could fall off. There is no way in telling when one of those rays will tap on right on the chest and push you over. Nearly everything about this first paragraph pinpoints “disaster” in the direction of “love”. Or perhaps, I’ve got it all wrong.

 

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