Intro
If you're going to be bad, you might as well be really bad. Like, if you're going to have a conversation about something that is so taboo, no one would dare talk about it, you might as well come out swinging… Right?
Well, queer rights weren't on anybody's radar in 1940s France. So authors like Jean Genet thought they had nothing to lose, and boy, did they come out swinging.
Querelle is a shocker from 1947. This book's title character is a sailor, a drifter, a hustler, and a murderer. He lives on the margins of society. He does what he must to stay alive.
Dun dun dun. Early queer novels that dealt with gay men, like Querelle, are often set in rough environments. These environments that the dark and hidden nature of "deviant" sexual expression.
What about the way the author writes in this book? Well, we think that the writing style of Querelle is somewhat similar to that of Ernest Hemingway. (Don't tell Ernie that; he fancies himself to be a real man's man.)
Genet writes about all the macho, overblown masculinity that many authors of his day wrote about, he just adds sex to the mix. So suddenly, the content becomes "seedy" or "revolting." (Why? You ask. Because the Victorians said so. And they were never wrong.)
This book is a commentary on why we are so fascinated by men killing, stealing, fighting, and double-crossing each other, but we feel positively disgusted by sex. We seem to accept and even embrace the awful violence and deceit that are part of the masculine identity.
But sex—especially sex between two men… gasp—that's another matter. Why? The power of Genet's writing forces the reader to examine why we tell so many stories about murder and war, but get so freaked out by sex.
Quote
The rims of his eyelids were burning. A blow received straightens a man up and makes the body move forward, to return that blow, or a punch-to jump, to get a hard-on, to dance: to be alive. But a blow received may also cause you to bend over, to shake, to fall down, to die. When we see life, we call it beautiful. When we see death, we call it ugly. But it is more beautiful still to see oneself living at great speed, right up to the moment of death. Detectives, poets, domestic servants and priests rely on abjection. From it, they draw their power. It circulates in their veins. It nourishes them.
Analysis
Since death isn't all sunshine and rainbows, we ignore it. Genet writes, "When we see life we call it beautiful. When we see death, we call it ugly." Like Lee Edelman's all-too-powerful Child, Genet points out that new life is always what's lauded in our Western culture.
A non-procreative individual is simply living for herself and waiting to die, and that's awful. There is no Disney princess or stuffed animal dedicated to that. Even though tons of single people and other childless wonders seem to enjoy all the quiet nights spent watching Netflix and drinking wine.
Edelman connects the gay person to Freud's idea of the death drive. What's that? Exactly what it sounds like. It's our inherent drive to return to what we were before were born: nothing. And the quickest path from something to nothing is death.
But we modern Westerners don't like death. No, we do not like it at all, though it comes for everyone. It's a natural part of life, yet we are horrified by it. And Querelle's character embodies this no-good death drive.
His sexuality exists purely for pleasure and power, not procreation. Meanwhile, he enjoys a wee bit of murder, and his gender costume ain't up to normative standards. But what's really brilliant about Genet's prose is how he juxtaposes different aspects of the male form.
"A blow straightens a man up," and he is ready to fight. He moves forward to "return that blow, or a punch-to jump." Along with that violence comes sexual arousal, then "to dance: to be alive." Here, Genet reveals how men are expected to be mixed bags of violence, sex, and other lively energy.
But dancing implies grace, too. Which is kind of feminine, isn't it? Like those end zone touchdown dances that NFL players do. And why is it "okay" for men to slap each other's butts in sports practices and games but not at other times?
Genet draws attention to some of the inherent masculine-feminine contradictions that exist even within traditional gender roles. Art and violence can combine in many expressions of the masculine.
If our death drive analysis is really getting you down, though, you could instead read this text through the lens of Jose Muñoz. To recap, our boy Muñoz talks about queerness as an identity that is always in a "not-yet" state. The present moment is the queerest state because it's always challenging us.
If you don't pay attention to what's going on in the present moment, you might miss the lion that's hiding in the bushes in front of you. Or the pot of gold behind that yonder rainbow. So the present is like a never-ending party for our bodies and minds.
Muñoz says, "We are not yet queer, we may never touch queerness." This constant force of simply living, without regard for a particular (queer) future, is precisely what Genet reveals to us in Querelle. "But it is still more beautiful to see oneself living at great speed, right up to the moment of death."
Muñoz's queerness is about living life "at great speed" (hopefully without all of Querelle's crimes). We're constantly learning and evolving in the rich present moment, because a future is always out there waiting for us. But that future will be experienced, too, in the present.
Did we just blow your minds? We'll give you a second to recuperate.
Now, as you may have guessed, these early queer novels like Querelle are not calm, comforting reads. As with Ginsberg's "Howl," Genet clearly believes that entrenched social orders need strongly resistant voices to shake them up.