The Marquis de Sade was born in 1740 to a French noble family. Writer, political activist, and most notably libertine – or someone who questions or challenges most moral principles, especially those concerning sex – his influence on Western culture remains significant. His major works – The120 Days of Sodom, Justine, Juliette and Philosophy in the Bedroom – combine disturbingly graphic descriptions of murder, rape, torture and sex acts with discourses on sexuality, religion, politics, and philosophy. It was from his ideas that the word “sadist” or “sadism” emerged, after all. To be a sadist is to enjoy inflicting pain on another human being. The Marquis de Sade not only explored this in writing, but he also lived it out. Toward the end of his sullied life, he was incarcerated at the Charenton insane asylum where, after being denied writing utensils and parchment, wrote on the walls of his cell using his own excrement. The irony could not be more fitting. Method and material matched content to a T.
It is easy to see why the Marquis de Sade is so appealing to some. In his world, there are no rules – no limits, no restrictions, no common decency. There are only the passions: uncontrolled, savage, and free. The feelings of others are not a concern. Nor is any modicum of self-respect. To be sure, it goes well beyond base animal proclivities. These desires are dark, intentional, and imaginative. Our four-legged friends could not come up with the kinds of ideas the Marquis de Sade came up with. They are too innocent. Perhaps we might even say that they are unblemished from original sin. Their lot is to simply live in a world that is. But I digress ...
In a recent conversation with a student, I had the pleasure of discussing what is what is likely not literary. We read literature to broaden our horizons, sharpen our minds, and learn how to articulate complex ideas. The more we read, the more conditioned we become to enter into exchanges of ideas with greater worldly awareness and intellectual poise. This is why literature classes remain on most curricula. At least for now. The squeeze is there, but the anchor is set. As the Spanish say, vamos a ver. But what happens when special interest groups attempt to foist upon the general public works with clearly questionable content? Someone writes a book in defense of some ideology, and a corresponding special interest group immediately labels that book “literary.” Should it be included on the required reading list? Without question? Without discussion? Vladamir Nabokov’s 1955 novel, Lolita, is the story of a man sexually obsessed with what he calls nymphets or girls between the ages of 9 and 14. Is this literary? The Piano Teacher by Elfriede Jelenik explores masochism, sexual violence, and voyeurism. Should this be taught in school?
Of course, I can hear folks speedily reply that it all depends on the age of the students. No for elementary school pupils. Perhaps for high school students. Why not for college-age students. At least they would read to the end. However, perhaps a deeper conversation needs to take place. Story, after all, affects how we see the world. Story is powerful. Story is necessary. We have a few short years to set the tone for our students, and the pickings are many. There is a plethora of books, in other words, that do not explore the baser proclivities, the fringe ideologies. So why the great push to adopt certain questionable titles? It seems to me that the special interest groups know this about our students. They know the clock is ticking, which makes their insistence that some books be adopted and summarily called literary more frenzied. It is a battle over the minds of our young. Indeed, it is a battle for control of the future.
The Marquis de Sade spent his final years behind bars writing who knows what on the walls of his cell using his own waste. It could hardly be called literary. In fact, the very notion is ludicrous. Perhaps shrewder minds should weigh in on the conversation about what is and what is not literary. Does the book uplift, or does it push an agenda? Does it speak to our shared humanity, or does it blindingly celebrate ideologies on the margin seeking to be mainstream? To be sure, dear listener, does the book tell the truth, or does it dictate the truth? There is a difference, for as George Orwell, author of Animal Farm and 1984, writes, “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” It has never been about truth, you see. It has always been about power.
