The Dedalus Book Of English Decadence

The Decadence Movement which flourished in the 1890s produced some of Europe's most striking and exotic works of literature The Decadents, convinced that civilization was in a state of terminal decline, refused to rebel as the Romantics had, but set forth instead to cultivate the pleasures of calculated perversity and to seek the artificial paradise of drug-induced hallucination. The Dedalus Book of Decadence looks south to sample the essence of fine French decadent writing. It succeeds in delivering a range of writers either searching vigorously for the thrill of a healthy crime or lamenting their impuissance from a sickly stupor. --Andrew St George in The Independent

The Decadence Movement which flourished in the 1890s produced some of Europe's most striking and exotic works of literature The Decadents, convinced that civilization was in a state of terminal decline, refused to rebel as the Romantics had, but set forth instead to cultivate the pleasures of calculated perversity and to seek the artificial paradise of drug-induced hallucination. J.-K. Huysmans described Decadence as a 'black feast' and The Second Dedalus Book of Decadence offers a veritable banquet, with offerings from the major practitioners in France and England. It completes Brian Stableford seminal two-volume study of the decadent movement.

The 1890s English Decadence was no mere polite response to French invention, but the hothouse blossoming of long indigenous researches into the perverse. Like Imperial Rome, England could hardly subdue and rule the globe without becoming corrupt. The Romantics tried rebellion, but amidst Victorian industry, terminally fatigued Decadents concerned themselves with cultivating their addiction to luxury and sensation. In The Dedalus Book of English Decadence: Vile Emperors and Elegant Degenerates, avatars and acolytes such as Beckford, Byron, De Quincey, Dowson, Bosie and Wilde are all to be found at their unwholesome best.

A black feast with offerings from the major practitioners and their precursors in France and England.

The Decadent Movement which flourished in the 1890s produced some of Europe’s most striking and exotic works of literature. The Decadents, convinced that civilisation was in a state of terminal decline, refused to rebel as the Romantics had, but set forth instead to cultivate the pleasures of calculated perversity and to seek the artificial paradise of drug-induced hallucination. J.-K. Huysmans described Decadence as a ‘black feast’ and The Second Dedalus Book of Decadence offers a veritable banquet, with offerings from the major practitioners in France and England. It completes Brian Stableford seminal two-volume study of the decadent movement.

This volume collects the poetry and prose that served as the model and inspiration for so much of fin-de-siecle English and French writing, providing a vivid picture of sexual excess and debauchery in a cruel and violent society which has never ceased to fascinate the library and scholarly imagination of succeeding generations. The editor, novelist Geoffrey Farrington, provides a general introduction to the literary and political milieux of imperial Rome, and introductory notes to works by such authors as Ovid, Tacitus, Suetonius, and Juvenal. "...concentrates on the outrageous behaviour of the ruling class of the Roman Empire, as described in passages selected from the prose, poetry and history of the period. Their murder plots, sexual deviances, orgies, cruelty and incessant intrigue put our politicians and their peccadillos on a play school level." Time Out

When in 1916, Mario de Sa-Carneiro committed suicide in Paris at the age of 26, he left behind him an extraordinary body of work, which dealt obsessively with the problems of identity, madness and solitude. Lucio's Confession is the first of his novels to be translated into English. A brilliant and remarkable short novel of great eroticism and enigmatic beauty Lucio's Confession is set in the fin de siecle artist circles of Paris and Lisbon. It deals with the friendship of two young Portuguese poets, Lucio and Ricardo de Loureiro, and their search for identity through love. When the bachelor Ricardo returns to Lisbon, to everyone's surprise he is accompanied by a wife. She, Marta, seems the perfect partner, and establishes an immediate rapport with his close friend Lucio on the latter's return from Paris. Soon they become lovers. Despite the passionate nature of their relationship, Lucio suspects that Marta is sharing her favours with Ricardo's other close friends. Something is not quite right. Where did this mysterious woman meet Ricardo, and, indeed who is she? Why does she never speak of her past and why is Ricardo conniving at her infidelity? Lucio's attempts to unravel this mystery have tragic and terrible consequences.

When the rich and well-connected Raoule de Vénérande becomes enamored of Jacques Silvert, a poor young man who makes artificial flowers for a living, she turns him into her mistress and eventually into her wife. Raoule's suitor, a cigar-smoking former hussar officer, becomes an accomplice in the complications that ensue.

One evening some friends were gathered at the home of one of our most celebrated writers. Having dined sumptuously, they were discussing murder—apropos of what, I no longer remember probably apropos of nothing. Only men were present: moralists, poets, philosophers and doctors—thus everyone could speak freely, according to his whim, his hobby or his idiosyncrasies, without fear of suddenly seeing that expression of horror and fear which the least startling idea traces upon the horrified face of a notary. I—say notary, much as I might have said lawyer or porter, not disdainfully, of course, but in order to define the average French mind. With a calmness of spirit as perfect as though he were expressing an opinion upon the merits of the cigar he was smoking, a member of the Academy of Moral and Political Sciences said: “Really—I honestly believe that murder is the greatest human preoccupation, and that all our acts stem from it... “ We awaited the pronouncement of an involved theory, but he remained silent. “Absolutely!” said a Darwinian scientist, “and, my friend, you are voicing one of those eternal truths such as the legendary Monsieur de La Palisse discovered every day: since murder is the very bedrock of our social institutions, and consequently the most imperious necessity of civilized life. If it no longer existed, there would be no governments of any kind, by virtue of the admirable fact that crime in general and murder in particular are not only their excuse, but their only reason for being. We should then live in complete anarchy, which is inconceivable. So, instead of seeking to eliminate murder, it is imperative that it be cultivated with intelligence and perseverance. I know no better culture medium than law.” Someone protested. “Here, here!” asked the savant, “aren't we alone, and speaking frankly?” “Please!” said the host, “let us profit thoroughly by the only occasion when we are free to express our personal ideas, for both I, in my books, and you in your turn, may present only lies to the public.” The scientist settled himself once more among the cushions of his armchair, stretched his legs, which were numb from being crossed too long and, his head thrown back, his arms hanging and his stomach soothed by good digestion, puffed smoke−rings at the ceiling: “Besides,” he continued, “murder is largely self−propagating. Actually, it is not the result of this or that passion, nor is it a pathological form of degeneracy. It is a vital instinct which is in us all—which is in all organized beings and dominates them, just as the genetic instinct. And most of the time it is especially true that these two instincts fuse so well, and are so totally interchangeable, that in some way or other they form a single and identical instinct, so that we no longer may tell which of the two urges us to give life, and which to take it—which is murder, and which love. I have been the confidant of an honorable assassin who killed women, not to rob them, but to ravish them. His trick was to manage things so that his sexual climax coincided exactly with the death−spasm of the woman: 'At those moments,' he told me, 'I imagined I was a God, creating a world!”