Between 1928 and 1932, the inner circle of the French surrealist movement got together for a series of discussions to establish the "concrete facts of love". Frankness and honesty were the watchwords: shame was to be banished. In total, 40 people made an appearance. André Breton, Jacques Prévert, Paul Éluard and Yves Tanguy were the most prominent; quite a few less well-known figures including the odd woman also took part.
Only two "recherches" were published at the time. Now, with the 12 discussions available together for the first time in English, readers are in for a treat: a cascade of opinion, at times insightful, frequently infuriating, often comedic.
It is remarkable how familiar many of these conversations feel. I was reminded of the brunch chats in Sex and the City or indeed those of my friends which are inherently futile attempts to pin down general truths about sex and love.
Here, of course, the perspective is male: all aspects of the feminine form, sexual technique and the stimulants of desire (love, trust, shame, perversion) are probed. Some observations will sting readers particularly female ones with their honesty. As Breton notes: "A woman can be a genius, can embody all the mental qualities I hold dear, yet all it takes is one single physical detail which displeases me for me to lose all interest."
No topic is too small or trivial. For instance: "What does Aragon think of using condoms?" asks Raymond Queneau. "I have a childish image of them," replies Louis Aragon. "I believe you buy them in chemists." At one point, a heated debate takes place on the desirability of having sex with women who can't speak French. In the end, all that's established is that any consensus on these matters is impossible.
Women play only a small role in the discussions; this is essentially a conversation between men. Whether the surrealists had much experience or understanding of women as people, rather than as sex objects, is something I remain unsure about. Still, for all the flaws of their attitudes toward sex, the surrealists were, at least, desperately interested in its relation to love. A similar discussion today, I suspect, would leave out the L word entirely.
