Non-Fiction of Gay Interest
The Thief's Journal
by Jean Genet (trans Bernard Frechtman)
Publisher: Penguin
Harmondsworth, UK

Year


 		1978       first publ France 1949
Cover / size: Paperback, h 18 cm * w 11 cm / 224 pp

Dustjacket?   no

ISBN: 0-14-00-2582-0

Arbery Ref:   000226

Condition Very Good

Slight damage to cover, particularly spine. Pages beginning to discolour as common with a book of this age and quality, but spine unbroken and apparently unread.

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Content:

"In this, his most famous book, Genet charts his progress through Europe and the 1930s in rags, hunger, contempt, fatigue and vice. Spain, Italy, Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Nazi Germany, Belgium . . . everywhere the pattern is the same: bars, dives, flop-houses, robbery, prison and expulsion.

"This is a voyage of discovery beyond all moral laws; the expression of a philosophy of perverted vice, the working out of an aesthetic of degradation."
(from the cover)


Background / Biography:

Jean Genet (19 December 1910 – 15 April 1986) was a prominent and controversial French novelist, playwright, poet, essayist, and political activist.


for more biographical details and books by / about Genet from Arbery Books, click here



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"Those whom one of their number called the Carolinas paraded to the site of a demolished street urinal. During the 1933 riots, the insurgents tore out one of the dirtiest, but most beloved pissoirs. It was near the harbour and the barracks and its sheet-iron had been corroded by the hot urine of thousands of soldiers. When its ultimate death was certified, the Carolinas - not all, but a formally chosen delegation - in shawls, mantillas, silk dresses and fitted jackets, went to the site to place a bunch of red roses tied together with a crepe veil. The procession started from the Parallelo, crossed the Calle Sao Paolo and went down the Ramblas de las Flores until it reached the statue of Columbus. The faggots were perhaps thirty in number, at eight o'clock, at sunrise. I saw them going by. I accompanied them for a distance. I knew that my place was in their midst, not because I was one of them, but because their shrill voices, their cries, their extravagant gestures seemed to me to have no other aim than to try to pierce the shell of the world's contempt. "

pp 52 - 53 of this edition



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