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"The Psychic Life: A Life in Time”
Dear Carol, dear friends,
First
of all thank you for being here; thank you for your support and for the
innovative and stimulating work you’ve presented and discussed here. A warm thank you to Carol and the team at
the university of Pittsburgh and to the donors who’ve made this gathering of
the Kristeva Circle possible, the fourth since the very first assembly in 2011
at Siena College of NY State University followed by subsequent conferences
hosted by the universities of Vanderbilt (2014), Memphis( 2015) and Stockholm
(2016).
We
gather today once again in the paradoxical situation I’ve often alluded to
— it’s through the English translation of my books that you know and
follow my work: yet it is in French that I express myself best, though I will
try to respond - perhaps clumsily — in your idiom, which today is
universal. Please excuse my
insufficient English: it’s easiest
for me to read my talk. I trust you
understand. Regarding this
paradox, and in an attempt to shorten the distance between us, I’ve chosen not
to give a conference in the strict sense of the word but more casually to
present, in a conversation style, a series of answers to questions I suspect
you might have regarding me, my writing, my work and my engagements.
This
was also the intention behind my latest book, Je me voyage (Fayard, 2016), in which my life and
my work intersect. It’s not yet
translated into English but I’ll give you a sort of sneak preview.
The
work in which I’ve been most absorbed these last few years is psychoanalysis
— both in the clinical sense and as a lever for interpreting the new
malaises of civilisation. Hence the
title I’ve given to these reflections today: The Psychic Life: A Life in Time.
Psychoanalysis and Culture
Je me voyage (Kristeva, 2016) is an
autobiographical text in the form of interviews
with a young friend psychologist Samuel Dock. The title’s neologism gives a nod to my
foreign status in the French language which has largely determined my psychosexual positioning in research and in
writing; this psychic experience
– foreign to the used language – has been central to my life’s trajectory (which I will not elaborate on here.) In my familial context, culture constituted a world that made life liveable — and I experienced
life, due to the importance accorded to language, as survival, as an intimate resistance and
creativity inherent in social time.
Freud’s revolutionary theory of the unconscious
and the transference/countertransference relationship proposes an overhaul of the dichotomies inherited
from metaphysics: body and mind, animal
and social, nature and culture. This bold reshaping of culture arouses fear
not only in relation to the social contract, which
rejects it, given that it is based on and structured by dualities, but also in relation to the bipartism of our institutions and the foundational "disciplines" of
the educational and cultural system. Psychoanalysts themselves, who practice and refine the reshaping,
contribute to the perpetuation of this metaphysical inheritance by isolating
themselves in many cases from what is at stake
in culture. I have called into
question linguistic models, constituted by and emerging out of the signifier/signified structures and their
grammatical and logical articulation. Was it my transgenerational history, my crossing of boundaries within
and outside of myself, which led me to do this? It seemed to me important to shake up
their grid, cut off as it is from the corporal experience. It was
my clinical practice of transference/countertransference
and the influence of Klein and Winnicott’s work as well as André Green's work on the psychosomatic drives (Green, 1971) that motivated me to do so. I then developed an approach to literary creation and, in
fact, all discourses, that stemmed from a language model conceived not as a "structure" but as a signifiance, that is, as a process with
two modalities, the semiotic, and the symbolic. By symbolic I am referring to the psyche, constituted by language – its morphologics,
syntax, logic, while the semiotic is pre- or trans-language: the infraverbal traces of instinctual drives, affects, and sensations which impregnate, transform, and sometimes absorb the
verbal (Kristeva, 1974).
From the outset I have addressed these zones of interference between
nature and culture: “La chair des mots” – the flesh of
words. Freud himself, evoking
Greek mythology and the European Renaissance, from Leonardo da Vinci to Stefan
Zweig, said that poets "preceded" us on the royal road to psychoanalysis. This wandering Jew, son of the
Enlightenment, inherited from his
Jewish tradition the invitation to listen (Shema!) in order to interpret. Convinced of the universal importance of his
discovery, he was able to open it up to history, and beyond the crises of European culture, to the human itself, to Homo sapiens understood as Homo religiosus. The Primal Horde, Totem and Taboo, Egypt and Moses, War and Peace, Civilisation And Its Discontents followed. Beyond
Sigmund Freud, the man, this intrinsically
religious and political anchoring in cultural memory constitutes the very structure of the psychoanalytical position itself and of its
discours, both with and through the techniques Freud bequeathed. My efforts in the human sciences
inscribes itself in this lineage, consciously or unconsciously,
when I attempt to introduce Freudian interpretation into the theoretical models
of today, to open them up to the confrontation with the unconscious and vice
versa. Yet, this concern to renew psychoanalytic tools, to make them more
relevant in the face of the "new maladies of the soul" (Kristeva,
1993), to tense traumatic situations, "borderline" conditions, and
other "unbindings," also carries with it the danger of becoming overly involved in highly technical metapsychologies and thus to be cut off from current social and
anthropological mutations.
Psychoanalysis as Discovery
or Rediscovery
In my mind and
practice psychoanalysis is a constant
reinvention--attentive to its foundations and history—on condition that it is continuously
re-embodied in the subjectivity of the analyst, herself/himself evolving in the
counter-transferential relation with her/his patient: the pöetics of interpretation bear
witness to this alchemy. Interpretation is a passion that is open both to self-analysis and to the time of history into which the timelessness of the unconscious
erupts. The “framework of the cure” is inscribed in historical movement and if
analysts forget this, they fail to address psychic life. The psychic life is always situated in time. In this sense, the question of culture,
past, present, and to come, is consubstantial with psychic life, understood not
as a "device" but as a life whose finite nature is embedded in history. My personal trajectory through its challenges, traumas, pleasures, failures, rewards, etc., has taught me this. I refer here to moments of enlightened understanding, rebounds and
luck — or rather chance, as seen through the lens of game theory, not unlike "objective
chance" in the "dialectic" of history, - and I try to sum up in Je
me voyage.
In my familial
constellation, my mother was very present, while at the same time leaving ample room for my father. Modest, warm, she studied biology and
was a convinced Darwinian. My father,
raised by his adoptive mother, was a believer, very literary, and
tender—in the feminine sense of this drive. Everything was in place for psychic bisexuality
to develop in me. There was another historical event in my
childhood, as random as it was fortunate: Alphabet Day, celebrated on May 24th in Bulgaria, the
celebration of Slavic alphabet which the brothers Cyril and Methodius invented
twelve centuries ago. The cultural and educational milieus went on parade. Everyone sported a letter. I incarnated words, names, sentences. I loved this ritual, linked to history,
to culture, which celebrated a kind of transfusion of the person into writing.
It was another piece
of luck — or rather chance — to discover Freud and
psychoanalysis. Confronting their
current debasement, I emphasise in my lectures and writings
that going into analysis is an
internal experience enabling a person to situate herself in openness, in the sens
of Heidegger. I explain to young psychoanalysts I supervise that in the transmission of
the analytical act, we are not working
in the
margins but on the tangent between our knowledge and the vagaries
of history.
The technical framework of analysis is tangential to historical movement. It is
of course necessary to maintain the counterphobic role of the framework and
theory, given that they enable connections to be made by reconstituting
narcissism and the ego ideal in the cure’s "working through process". At the same time, it is indispensable to open the ear up to what analysand experiences in the here and now.
Our work is not to meet the social demand but
to hear the social malaise. Today,
civilisation’s malaise resides in this
threat weighing on psychic space, on “inner life.” It’s up to analysts to find a relevant and acceptable language to pave the way for subjectivation in the transference; but it is equally crucial for us to be heard “outside of our framework”. This presents a double challenge because the analyst must show psychic
flexibility while maintaining the technical rigour of the container. If she or he is fine-tuned in her/his
accompaniment of the patient, she/he is able to detect new symptoms and
generate new concepts. Yes, believe me, research
does exist in psychoanalysis though it is not sufficiently understood: it explores borderline
conditions, the early mother-child relationship, even autism and now “radicalisation.”
In order to position
psychoanalysis in history and/or actuality , there is also the matter of translating the technical side of our savoir-faire and providing key elements of this inner experience we witness to other
caregivers — psychotherapists, relaxation therapists, physical therapists, etc. — so that they can have a clearer grasp of the social malaise and thus help their patients, who,
although not in analysis, might
find other ways of accessing their inner lives. Squeezed by accelerated time and hyperconnection, the interior life becomes suspended in a
stressed and stressful daily
existence, dominated by media images which encapsulate and threaten to destroy all inner experience. How do we deal with this constant incitement to partake in the Spectacle,
exhibitionism, narcissism, social media, selfies? This widely shared behaviour is a major social phenomenon that begs to be analysed. In what ways is it both toxic and liberating, in contact with the violence of trauma and desire? To problematise the present, to find an audible language, and to
occupy a freely determined space, such are the challenges psychoanalysts must face. We have to maintain both poles firmly — new techniques and a double anchoring in both subjectivity and culture.
Psychoanalysis as a
Translation of Traumas and Their Trajectory
Allow me a little
detour through Europe: it's a very
fragile place for many reasons and especially because 23 languages are spoken there. Translation
is the European language. As a professor directing the theses of foreign
students and as a psychoanalyst working with patients whose mother tongue is
not French, I have been observing a
psychic renaissance expressed in polylingualism and the act of
translating. Given that both analyst and analysand are
socio-historical agents, interpreting the unconscious of the analysand, that is, what he says unawares, constitutes already a translation of traumas and desires. One
bets on the translatability of traumas and thus on their trajectory, their working-through.
Bringing this knowledge of the psyche to light on the social and cultural
stage is not easy. It falls to each of us to make use of the rigorous tools of our respective fields, to confront the social
crises (identity, the need to believe, populism, fundamentalism) and the new
social agents (adolescents, different sexual orientations and reproductive modalities). It's a question not so much of an engagement as a co-presence, providing a neighbouring framework (of the cure) in and through its socio-historical environment. One begins with the relevant interpretation in the framework,
then its transmission, understood as a translation-interpretation of historical
change, addressed to the social body in movement.
Three Anthropological
Changes
Never has humanity
known an anthropological mutation as radical and widespread
as the one we are experiencing today. Technology moves forward with dizzying speed. Communication has never been so global,
extraordinary in its diversity and heterogeneity.
1) Our relation to time is
both hyper accelerated and suspended. It becomes suspended in melancholy or in borderline conditions, and also
in drug addiction and jihadism. It's a time of sacrifice, a maniacal narcissistic exaltation which literally explodes both the traumatisers and the traumatised. But
it's also a suspension of jouissance, lived out as the drive-based avidity
experienced by the consumers that we are. We can equally consider this suspensionof time in a more abstract,
mathematical way, given that cosmologists claim time doesn't exist in interstellar space, in the multiverse and other dark matter. Never has temporality been so
paradoxical and yet accessible. But who has access to these different facets of temporality if not the
analyst and her/his analytic process where the dynamics of transference, repetition and finitude
inscribe themselves in a beginning,
without end? This process encompasses transgenerational clusters as well as reticular adaptation fantasies and flashes of sharp idealisations along with
sacrificial hallucinatory holograms. Only analysts have access to all of the above temporalities expressed through singular experiences. That is to say, by way of an extended rationality aligned with analytic rationality. Philosophers, ethnologists and politicians simply do not operate on this level. In my last novel, The Enchanted Clock (Fayard/Columbia University Press, 2015/2017), I try to sublimate in fiction
these complex subjective temporalities.
2) The reordering of sexual difference. Psychic bisexuality is omnipresent but articulated in different ways in
history. I ended my essay on Feminine Genius (Arendt, Klein, Colette, Fayard, 1999, 2000, 2002) by
affirming that there are more than two sexes and that we invent our singular sex in our intimate life: this process is always a creative act. The end of an analysis opens up the
capacity to make connections, to play, and, adopting Winnicott's words, to recreate one's
psychosexuality continually, with or without a partner, with Love, or in the
shadow of that "big fat Love," (to quote the "great Colette" whose connection to plants and animals enabled her to thrive), or in the caring professions, like psychoanalysis. Although repression of sexuality also
returns with galloping speed, despite and alongside marriage equality and other praise for "enjoyment without
restraint" (“jouir sans entraves”), there is also the tendency to free sexuality from inhibition by restoring its
creativity: and psychoanalysis
participates in this movement, which plumbs the depths of psychic and
trans-psychic structures inaccessible to the sociologist,
anthropologist, or
philosopher.
3) The third change was that of "the religious." The current global resurgence of
religion came to me as a surprise: I consider myself one of the rare
atheists remaining on earth. As a
psychoanalyst, I observe the importance of what I call the "need to
believe," a universal and pre-religious anthropological need, which I examine through the lens of what Freud calls a cathexis – Besetzung in German. The need to believe and the desire
to know, never one without the other, are the universal conditions for
human beings to be able to talk and
relate to each other. Psychoanalysis is alone in its ability
to lift the denial weighing upon this need to believe. It does so in order to take the measure
of the sexual dimension in it and to interpret it in the transferential and counter-transferential relationship. Without compromise.
The Need to Believe
One cannot be
content to say that Freud reduces religion to an illusion and a source of
neurosis, and that the analytic experience itself is not a stranger to
"belief" in the broad sense of the term (Kristeva, 2007, p. 28). Steeped in the Jewish tradition, but
atheist, and conscious of the anthropological place of the religious, Freud is
at the same time a child of the Enlightenment. According to Sartre, atheism is a
"cruel and long-term experience." In Moses and Monotheism, Freud makes Moses an Egyptian: this is a cruel deconstruction of the
origines of Judaism, making Egyptian monotheism its starting point. But one can also read this as an invitation to inscribe the
Torah in the history of humanity. An intransigent atheist, Freud underlines in "The Resistances to
Psychoanalysis" that "Nor is it perhaps entirely a matter of chance
that the first advocate of psycho-analysis was a Jew. To proffer belief in this new theory,
called for a certain degree of readiness to accept a situation of solitary
opposition – a situation with which no one is more familiar than a
Jew." [notice the ‘need to believe’ in this reflection, in which he seems
to be stating part of a last will and testament]
In the spirit of the
Enlightenment — Goethe and Diderot — Freud joins Nietzsche who proclaims that it remains for us to place “a big question mark at the
most serious place,” that is, God, precisely, but also all identity,
value, or system of meaning. The
Future of an Illusion and Moses and Monotheism invite us to pursue
reevaluating this religious cultural legacy, with which secularisation cut the strings. Certain analysts have responded, for
instance, Fethi Benslama with Islam, Daniel Sibony with Judaism. For my part, I have probed Catholic
mysticism with Teresa of Avila’s texts revealing an extravagant and so modern
feminine figure (Teresa, My Love, Columbia University Press, 2016 [2008].
Adolescence and Unbinding
In my article of
January 2016, “How Can One be Jihadist?”, following the killings in France (Charlie Hebdo and at the Bataclan), I raise the question as to how to stop the unbinding when adolescent ideality illness leads to
nihilism. At the Home for the
Adolescent (Maison de Solenn), at Cochin Hospital, a co-ed and multicultural team in enthnopsychiatry admits young people
struggling with depression and a solitary destructivity which they cannot put words to or share with anyone. They are at
risk for suicide attempts, anorexia, and radicalisation. Those prone to radicalisation repress the injury of
exclusion while appearing “normal”; they are ready to take off for jihad. Without judging or diagnosing, the team
listens, aware of the need to understand and interpret
exclusion wounds and religious memory. My seminar on "The
Need to Believe" (first at the University of Paris-VII and for five years
with Professor Marie-Rose Moro at the Maison de Solenn) flushed out harmful
behaviour – the faithful
Muslim submitting to "mass orthodoxy" (see Abdennour Bidar, phylosopher
from muslim origin) which, by ignoring the individual, by reducing women to prey, spreads a culture of death throughout radical and political Islam. The intense desire to transcend oneself, so common to adolescents with their frustrations can, in
certain circumstances, be perverted into "radical evil" (Kant). By listening to them, we can help adolescents in the grips of "an ideality
illness" succeed in "finding flesh in words" (la “chair des
mots”) and "thinking on their own" in an intercultural space to
regain confidence and become invested in the desire to live.
I'm not setting up
an opposition between the analytic cure and the therapeutic practices of social work. I'm
putting them side-by-side. Of
course, to speak of our findings in psychoanalytical practice to the larger public requires a discursive flexibility that takes into account the listener's
ability to understand.
At the Maison de
Solenn, the container is provided by the intercultural ethno-psychiatric team while I offer a Seminar open to the caregiving staff who have the desire and curiosity to know the
religious facts, to engage with the texts and interpretations they arouse,
especially those based on clinical psychoanalysis.
Radical Evil and the Secular
Enlightenment’s secularisation refashioned morality which was until then dominated by
religion. For Kant, “free will”
itself has a shadowy side: it
becomes "corrupted," losing the sense of the moral distinction
between good and evil. This is the
"radical evil," which Hannah Arendt diagnoses in analysing totalitarianism and the Holocaust, when certain
human beings declare others superfluous. Pogroms, religious wars, ethnic conflicts, colonialism, amok . .
. follows. . . Here we're touching
on not only "threats to freedom," but also on what I will call the malignity of the psychic apparatus: destructivity, giving free rein to the death instinct--hallucinatory
states, the move to savage acts, decapitations and kamikazes – in short,
are inherent dimension of the human psyche. This malignity may be to different degrees sublimated, worked through or bound in
neurotic structures, explosive borderline conditions and "'as if'
personalities." When they
involve the psyche of the adolescents, for instance, we call this break-down an
“unbinding” – déliaison. Religions, which in the past, and in the best of cases, utilised and ritualised these states of unbinding (déliaison), are now incapable of dealing with them. Whereas the secular State needs firmness and subtulty, its “de-radicalisation centres" are virtually powerless.
At the Collège des Bernardins, with a panel of religious and
non-religious intellectuals we created the Montesquieu Circle to discuss our
experiences and convictions regarding recent world events. In this setting, I’ve spoken about my perspective on
adolescents unbinding (“déliaison”), and the work we do at Cochin. Such borderline cases dominated by
negativity do not spare female psychosexuality. Some women cover themselves in burkinis,
others are ready to procreate for Allah, or indeed, become human bombs
themselves. Our research on
hysteria straddling psychosis, perversions, and false selves, among other
symptoms, has not entered into the social arena, which remains unaware of or
refuses to discuss it.
In a text I wrote some time ago, I proposed to conceptualize
adolescence not only as an age , but as an adolescent structure, outlined by Helen Deutch: a fragile structure, a revision of the
Oedipal one, entrenched in puberty's drives ("Les secrets d'une
analyste," 1986, reprinted in Kristeva, 1993, p. 294), it persists in
adults. When the belief in the
absolute, the quest for an ideal, fails, this adolescent structure reverses
itself in a destructive force against the self-with-the-other. No link to any "object"
survives for these "subjects" who are not subjects, only the death
drive triumphs (see André Green, Unbinding,
1971-1992).
Better than other
approaches of the religious sort, the secular perspective is able to assure the passage from the need to believe to the
desire to know —
provided it has access to the proper means and tools. Our priority as a secular society must be education, combined with a substantial
increase in the status of a "teaching
and training corps." This
arrangement would provide individualised support for psychosexual malaise, from the need
to believe to the desire to know, in order to create a true path
forward above the deepening abyss and the threat of war. Media, culture, and politics should be offering new and attractive civic ideals. Indeed, this should be the top priority of our hyperconnected globalised world; this alone — through shared
cultural diversity — can protect humanity.
The Abject and Abjection
In the case of the adolescent, the desire
to know goes hand in
hand with the need to believe. This adolescent desireto invest the primal scene of the parents — a sexual curiosity and fulfilment — is demonstrated in the affirmation of homoeroticism and in the discovery of genitality. Here, too, religions exercise their domination. At the same time, the
undergoing changes in parenthood
today all too often exposes adolescents to severe
psychic solitude, despite, or rather, because of the normalisation of hyperconnected
information (see "Métamorphoses
de la parentalité," Kristeva, 2013).
Unbinding also resonates with the
genesis of abjection in my practice. This is a notion I explored as early as
1980 in Powers of Horror: An
Essay on Abjection and at the time of the Louvre exhibit, The Severed Head: Capital Visions (Visions capitales, 1998). In this context, I wrote that "the
image may be the only link with the sacred remaining to us: with the horror provoked by death and sacrifice,
with the serenity flowing from the pact of identification between
sacrificed and sacrifiers, and with the joy of representation, which
cannot be dissociated from sacrifice, its only possible trajectory"
(Kristeva, 1998, p. 11).
"Abjection"
or the abject is what is neither subject, nor object but unceasingly returns,
disgusts, rejects, fascinates. It is near but not able to be assimilated. Different from the uncanny,
"abjection is elaborated through a failure to recognise its kin" (Kristeva, 1980, p. 9 and 13;
English translation, pp. 1 and 5).
But there are many manners and degrees of unbinding. A very conflictual relationship with the
primary maternal figure often precedes the unbinding of adolescent structures: submission, a swallowing up by maternal domination, a reduction of the
subject to a hallucinatory state desiring avid satisfactions, on the border of
psychosis and delirium. There may
be maternal domination and submission, which is, at one and the same time,
rejected, fled, and also sought after, in order to be recovered once again in
an all-powerful tyranny that is posted as divine, irrevocable, and
unquestionable. What some call the
"mass orthodoxy" of fundamentalist Islam finds its archaic cornerstone in unbinding and in abjection.
I was listening to a
desperate mother who lamented, "I was so close to my daughter, she told me
everything, we were on the phone 24/7 and, all of a sudden, she
disappeared. She left to have a thousand
children for jihadists" – is this not a flagrant example of abjection? The young girl and her mother, too, have been invaded, cannibalised, without realising it – the daughter cannot stand this blurring of subject and
object, which makes her “abject." She believes she's saving
herself by giving herself over to abusive males, who reduce
her to a sacrificial motherhood that is imperative, absolute, and without doubt, victimising. She will thus be every bit as devoid of subjectivity as before: abject.
The abjection that is the Bataclan tragedy (in November 2015, Paris)
derives from the gangster fundamentalism of our ghettoised suburbs. This
delinquency, prime for radicalisation (so common in prisons) reveals that the religious treatment of adolescent
revolt has discredited itself. These young people do not adhere to the
cultural values and republican ideals of their country eather. Suffering from a lack of identity and social marginalisation, troubled
youth might first embrace a "native identity" and, subsequently turn to forms of extremism. They are struggling with affective crises out of our reach, with no recourse to the questioning made
available through language and thought. Torn in pieces, they can no
longer distinguish between good and evil. Such a state of “unbinding” destroys the
possibility of gaining a sense of self and of the
existence of others. The avidity
for absolute satisfaction then takes the shape of the destruction of everything
that is not this satisfaction --annihilating
the boundary between self and other, interior and exterior: "je/te tue--il/me tue." Murder and suicide become blurred, as
they did at the Bataclan.
My text on abjection came to me in the course of my analysis and through my scholarly writing. I was in the process of preparing a book
on Céline (Pouvoirs de l'horreur, op. cit.). It was hard to get a handle on the abyss
opening up between my revolt against his anti-Semitic violence and the emotion
which his fiction aroused in me. His novels, from Voyage to the End of the Night to Castle
to Castle, are a veritable "opera of the deluge" – “Opéra
du déluge”, Céline writes. Borderline
states, idiocy and brothel-speak, all are swept up in a
prose as precise and classical as it is vernacular, musical, and vulgar. Sentences persists in the
ellipses, flooded by sensation, affect, and drives both horrible and sublime.
But how to name this power of horror? My mother was visiting France. She took care of David who was teething and not sleeping at night and,
for that matter, neither was I. I'm
on Ilse Barande's couch: "I
don't know how to manage all of it, the baby, my mother, and this Céline, with his Voyage to the End of the Night –
tu parles! – all massacre, horror, abjection." My analyst responds: "That's the word for it." I leave the session relieved, with a
feeling of deliverance more than the certainty of "mastering my subject." It's the mother/child confusion,
attraction/repulsion, the uncertainty of
subjectivation and objectivation. Sublimating or working
through? Clearly both. Mary Douglas, the ethnologist, studied
soiling and purification rites in so-called primitive societies. So I took the word abjection, and tried to elucidate food taboos in Leviticus, Christian sins . . . even Céline.
My
psychoanalyst Ilse Barande deserves to be better known. Her writing on primary avidity,
perversion, "mère-version" and also Le Maternel singulier should be reprinted and
translated. My analyst, who was a
German Jew, understood the word : “abjection”. Yet, neither of us spoke French as
our native language. Analysis takes
shape in the lived experience of transference/counter-transference, if and only
if it opens us to a way of life and of thinking that is increasingly personal,
attuned to the senses. This was to
lead me to write novels.
Thank you again for your interest in my work and the
experiences that have informed it. I’ve tried to share this with you today in a more personal way. Most of all thank you for the papers
you’ve presented. I am looking
forward to the pleasure of reading them.
Julia Kristeva, trans. Carol
Mastrangelo Bové
Works Cited and/or Consulted
Green A. (1971), La Déliaison, Paris, Les
Belles Lettres, 1992.
J. Kristeva, La Révolution du langage poétique. L'avant-garde à la
fin du XIXe siècle: Lautréamont et
Mallarmé, Seuil, 1974.
Kristeva J., Pouvoirs de l’horreur. Essai sur
l’abjection, Paris, Le Seuil, 1980.
Kristeva J., Les Nouvelles Maladies de l'âme,
Paris, Fayard, 1993.
Kristeva J., Visions capitales, Paris,
Réunion des musées nationaux, 1998. Réédité en Visions capitales. Arts et rituels de la décapitation, La Martinière, 2013.
Kristeva J., Cet incroyable besoin de croire, Paris,
Bayard, 2007.
Kristeva J., « La reliance ou de l’érotisme
maternel », Revue française de psychanalyse, t. LXXV,
n° 5, 2011, p. 1559-1570.
Kristeva J., « Métamorphoses de la
parentalité », 73e CPLF, Congrès de psychanalyse de langue française, Le Paternel,
2013, p. 1650-1657.
Kristeva J., Thérèse mon amour, Fayard, 2008.
Kristeva J., Je me voyage. Mémoires.
Entretiens avec Samuel Dock, Paris, Fayard, 2016.
The Kristeva Circle 2017 Meeting
October 27-28 University of Pittsburgh
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