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Sinthome Bk. XXIII : The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XXIII by Jacques Lacan (2016, Hardcover)
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Authors : Lacan, Jacques. Binding : Hardcover. Publication Date : Oct 17 2016.
- Buy It NowThe Sinthome: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XXIII by Lacan, Jacques
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About this product
Product Identifiers
PublisherPolity Press
ISBN-101509510001
ISBN-139781509510009
eBay Product ID (ePID)228592841
Product Key Features
Number of Pages224 Pages
Publication NameSinthome BK. Xxiii : the Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book Xxiii
LanguageEnglish
SubjectMovements / Psychoanalysis, European / English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh
Publication Year2016
TypeTextbook
Subject AreaLiterary Criticism, Psychology
AuthorJacques Lacan
FormatHardcover
Dimensions
Item Height0.8 in
Item Weight20 Oz
Item Length9 in
Item Width6 in
Additional Product Features
Intended AudienceScholarly & Professional
LCCN2015-050858
Dewey Edition23
TitleLeadingThe
IllustratedYes
Dewey Decimal150.19/5
Table Of ContentTHE SPIRIT OF THE NODES I. On the logical use of the sinthome, or Freud with Joyce II. On what makes a hole in the real III. On the knot as the subject's support THE JOYCE TRAIL IV. Joyce and the fox riddle V. Was Joyce mad? VI. Joyce and imposed words THE INVENTION OF THE REAL VII. On a fallace that vouches for the real VIII. On sens, sex and the real IX. From the unconscious to the real BY WAY OF CONCLUSION X. The writing of the Ego Note APPENDICES Joyce the Symptom, by Jacques Lacan Presentation at Lacan's Seminar, by Jacques Aubert Reading notes, by Jacques Aubert A note threaded stitch by stitch, by Jacques-Alain Miller Translator's endnotes Index
SynopsisTen times, an elderly grey-haired man gets up on the stage. Ten times puffing and sighing. Ten times slowly tracing out strange multi-coloured arabesques that interweave, curling with the meanders of his speech, by turns fluid and uneasy., 'Ten times, an elderly grey-haired man gets up on the stage. Ten times puffing and sighing. Ten times slowly tracing out strange multi-coloured arabesques that interweave, curling with the meanders of his speech, by turns fluid and uneasy. A whole crowd looks on, transfixed by this enigma-made-man, absorbing the ipse dixit and anticipating some illumination that is taking its time to appear. Non lucet. It's shady in here, and the Th odores go hunting for their matches. Still, they say, cuicumque in sua arte perito credendum est, whosoever is expert in his art is to be lent credence. At what point is a person mad? The master himself poses the question. That was back in the day. Those were the mysteries of Paris forty years hence. A Dante clasping Virgil's hand to be led through the circles of the Inferno, Lacan took the hand of James Joyce, the unreadable Irishman, and, in the wake of this slender Commander of the Faithless, made with heavy and faltering step onto the incandescent zone where symptomatic women and ravaging men burn and writhe. An equivocal troupe was in the struggling audience: his son-in-law; a dishevelled writer, young and just as unreadable back then; two dialoguing mathematicians; and a professor from Lyon vouching for the seriousness of the whole affair. A discreet Pasipha was being put to work backstage. Smirk then, my good fellows Be my guest. Make fun of it all That's what our comic illusion is for. That way, you shall know nothing of what is happening right before your very eyes: the most carefully considered, the most lucid, and the most intrepid calling into question of the art that Freud invented, better known under its pseudonym: psychoanalysis'. Jacques-Alain Miller, "Ten times, an elderly grey-haired man gets up on the stage. Ten times puffing and sighing. Ten times slowly tracing out strange multi-coloured arabesques that interweave, curling with the meanders of his speech, by turns fluid and uneasy. A whole crowd looks on, transfixed by this enigma-made-man, absorbing the ipse dixit and anticipating some illumination that is taking its time to appear. Non lucet. It's shady in here, and the Théodores go hunting for their matches. Still, they say, cuicumque in sua arte perito credendum est, whosoever is expert in his art is to be lent credence. At what point is a person mad? The master himself poses the question. That was back in the day. Those were the mysteries of Paris forty years hence. A Dante clasping Virgil's hand to be led through the circles of the Inferno, Lacan took the hand of James Joyce, the unreadable Irishman, and, in the wake of this slender Commander of the Faithless, made with heavy and faltering step onto the incandescent zone where symptomatic women and ravaging men burn and writhe. An equivocal troupe was in the struggling audience: his son-in-law; a dishevelled writer, young and just as unreadable back then; two dialoguing mathematicians; and a professor from Lyon vouching for the seriousness of the whole affair. A discreet Pasiphaë was being put to work backstage. Smirk then, my good fellows! Be my guest. Make fun of it all! That's what our comic illusion is for. That way, you shall know nothing of what is happening right before your very eyes: the most carefully considered, the most lucid, and the most intrepid calling into question of the art that Freud invented, better known under its pseudonym: psychoanalysis." -- Jacques-Alain Miller
LC Classification NumberBF173.L1462213 2016
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