Small note: Hélène Cixous writes of an affair with a younger woman in this beautiful little book that embodies transgressions of boundaries -literary genres, sexualities- as it explores the purity of the self the merging with a lover. Perhaps it was the conservatism of the downtown corporate office I was working in when I wrote "Promethea Un/Bound," but I didn't mention what The Book of Promethea is about. My recollection of Promethea is of witnessing a shower of shards of glass that are gleaming sunlit and that fall on your skin as water. And an attempt by the author not to pin that joy into words that may kill the spirit of her love/r. A short, intensely poetic high-spirited book. "As for Promethea, she is really the one who made the whole text already, the text from which I emerged just half an hour ago (my hair still clinging from the Atlantic and crystal flecks all over my body. Anyone who wants to know how this almost finished work tastes would only have to lick my shoulder)." (p.5) I like to pair Promethea with A Lover's Discourse: Fragments, by Roland Barthes on my shelf.
