[Leçon de choses illustrates] one manifestation of myth in recent French fiction: its displacement from the domain of the novel's content to that of its structure.

Structurally, Leçon de choses (1975) is both like and unlike Claude Simon's previous novel, Triptique (1973). It is similar primarily through its tripartite nature: like Triptique, it contains not one but three "plots," each fragmented and interspersed among the bits and pieces of the other two, all of the fragments attaching themselves to their respective neighbors through various exercises in metaphor and metonymy. The differences between the two novels are threefold. The three plots of Leçon de choses are not only structurally integrated but are as shall be demonstrated shortly all components of a larger "superplot," encompassing all the elements of the novel; that is to say, the unity of Leçon de choses is more immediately evident than that of Triptique. A second major structural distinction between the two novels may be discerned in the refined subdivision of one of Leçon's plots into two subplots…. [Simon] treats each of the subplots the same way he treats the other two plots, deploying it from the beginning to the end of his novel. Thus the text constantly hesitates between the ternary, hermetic symbol of instability and generation, hence of mobility, and the quaternary, symbol of stability and therefore of immobility. As in Claude Simon's La Bataille de Pharsale (1969), mobility and immobility play thematic roles of considerable technical and philosophical import in Leçon de choses. The third salient difference between Leçon de choses and its predecessor lies in the overall structure. Leçon is divided not into three chapters but rather into seven, each endowed with its own title…. Thus, in Leçon de choses Simon incorporates his old techniques into new structures, suggesting once again his favored theme of kinesis/stasis.

"Générique," the title of Simon's first chapter, indicates quite clearly the chapter's role as a locus for generators which will be used to produce the remainder of Leçon de choses. In addition, by means of a kind of self-reflective polyvalence, it presents itself as a mise-en-abyme of several mutually metaphorical plots: it is the genus, they the various species. Moreover, the chapter title is substantive as well as adjectival in nature: the générique of a French film is that section, usually at the beginning, in which credit is given to those who have collaborated in its production. This reading of the title, consistent with the other readings, suggests that the items described and their relationships to each other are going to share, at the very least, a strong bond of kinship with the characters and situations in the remainder of the novel. (pp. 135-36)

The most apparent of the processes of thematic generation linking the rest of the novel to "Générique" is associated with Simon's privileged topic of "bricolage," as the debris of "Générique"'s wall appear and reappear throughout the novel. (p. 137)

A second thematic link between "Générique" and the novel's three plots is to be found in the theme of light and darkness. The darkness of "Générique," emphasized by a feeble light bulb as well as by the shadows cast on the floor, will eventually pervade all three plots, with varying effect…. Ultimately, the novel's obsession with precision is rendered in cosmic terms: in a sequence that occupies twenty-two of the page's twenty-seven lines, Simon depicts the flashing of a beacon across the water, at the very moment that divides day from night …; the message, preceded by secret rituals, appears to have been sent from far-off stars with the express purpose of setting into motion machinery and clockwork gears which indicate to observers the precise moment of transition. Like Ricardou and Pynchon, Simon finds himself fascinated with the interface as much as with the surface.

Hypothetical speculation over the origin of the plaster fragments on the floor of "Générique"'s room leads to further expansion of the plots…. Simon takes full advantage of the polyvalence of the term mortier ("mortar") to introduce or reinforce themes of construction, deconstruction, and destruction…. [Incidents] are displaced not only from one plot to another, but also from one object to another within the same plot. (pp. 137-38)

Movement and immobility have always played an important role in Simon's novels, and the prominence of this role has increased considerably in his "third phase" novels, beginning with La Bataille de Pharsale (1969). Characters are often in danger of freezing (or friezing) into statuary. The process is reversible, and may be associated with transitions between two- and three-dimensional existence: paintings come to life, whereas what were thought to be real people turn out to be flat images projected on a movie screen. A motionless scene can be described; once set into motion, it can be presented both through description and through narration. Simon uses the present indicative quite effectively as a grammatical tool whose ambiguity facilitates such glissements.

Transition from movement to stasis may be seen in both the geological and the architectural metaphors which develop from the wall and debris described (and narrated) in "Générique." The first of "Générique"'s three paragraphs mentions "un galon … où se répète le même motif (frise?) de feuilles d'acanthe dessinant une succession de vagues involvées" ["a braid repeating the same motif (frieze?) of acanthus leaves sketching a succession of involuted waves"]…. The "waves" and fallen plaster suggest a seascape and a chalk cliff, of the type frequently painted by Claude Monet … and Boudin; for this reason, the second paragraph becomes a marine metaphor, starting with the waves: "Au-dessous du minuscule et immobile déferlement de vagues végétales qui se poursuivent sans fin sur le galon de papier fané, l'archipel crayeux de morceaux de plâtre se répartit en îlots d'inégales grandeurs comme les pans détachés d'une falaise et qui se fracassent à ses pieds" ["Below the tiny and immobile unfurling of vegetable waves that continue unceasingly on the braid of faded paper, the chalky archipelago of bits of plaster divides itself into islands of unequal grandeur like the sides of a cliff and crash into pieces at one's feet"]…. Bearing in mind that the entire sequence is a metaphorical description of pieces of plaster lying on the floor, we are struck by Simon's choice of verbs. The reflexive "se répartir" is perfectly appropriate for a still-life description, although it could equally be used in the narration of a cliff crumbling before our eyes. "Se fracasser," on the other hand, implies noise and violent movement; it could appropriately be used in the narration of a violent event, or in the description of a football scene frozen by a stop-action videotape camera, but seems quite out of place when used to describe a still-life scene. Similar subtle mechanisms will be deployed throughout the novel as transits between movement and immobility, and often between one plot and another.

The rather majestic stature accorded the wall by the metaphor of cliff and seascape is prefigured somewhat by the architectural metaphor of the first paragraph. "Plinthe," "bandeau," "frise" and "acanthe" all belong to the vocabulary of classical architecture and thus help to prepare the gradual "statue-ification" of soldiers and masons. Plaster dust suspended in the air changes the masons' faces to grey masks, "masques gris."… Similar dust has a similar effect on the dying soldier, whose hand appears to have been "sculptée dans une pierre molle et incolore" [sculpted in a soft and colorless stone"]…. (pp. 138-39)

Just as the soldiers and masons become commutable with three-dimensional statues, so Estelle and her companions, generated by two-dimensional works of art, will tend to exchange their living movement for the stasis of the tableau. The works of the impressionistic school are especially well chosen to convey the simultaneity of movement and immobility, thanks in large part to the fragmented brush strokes and the vibratory effect of fluidity they create…. (p. 139)

Like Queneau's Icarus who enters Vol d'Icare by being blown out of (off?) an open manuscript and onto (into?) the streets of Paris, Estelle and her friends are born into Leçon de choses through metalepsis, a breakdown of the frame and of aesthetic distance. When first introduced into the novel, they are described/narrated in the ambiguous present tense, seen in such close focus that the frame of the tableau begins beyond the peripheral vision of the observer. As the frame is introduced, excluding narration, verbal connotation once again introduces temporal progression, requiring narrative technique….

In addition to the processes of thematic generation outlined above, processes of linguistic generation such as those suggested by Ricardou for La Bataille de Pharsale are initiated in "Générique" and are developed to varying degrees in the remainder of the novel. Many of these processes, e.g., the slippage between tache ("spot") and vache ("cow"), or the progression cheveux ("hair")/à cheval ("straddling")/cavalier ("horseman") … are quite fascinating…. The simplest of the examples to be presented, associated with the leit-motif of approaching darkness, begins with the introduction of shadows, "ombres."… These, combined with "Générique"'s flowered wallpaper, produce ombelles, "umbels"; ombres and ombelles are joined in the very next sentence … to provide the parasols, ombrelles, which will be mentioned a half-dozen or more times thereafter in the novel.

A considerably more elaborate pattern is generated by the light bulb (ampoule) illuminating the first few pages of the novel. With the help of the dust (poussière) covering the floor, it justifies the introduction of hen (poule) and hen house (poulailler), thumb (pouce), powder (poudre), beam (poutre) and octopus (poulpe), along with a dozen additional related words. Like the octopus of Ricardou's Observatoire de Cannes, Simon's poulpe is justified by the text, not by the plot. (p. 140)

"Courts-circuits," the final chapter and coda of Leçon de choses, behaves just as its name suggests it should: it repeats, not quite word for word, what has already been found in "Générique," continuing into truncated versions (or variations) of the novel's three plots. The novel does not end, but instead turns back upon itself, much like Finnegans Wake, a serpent biting its own tale. Thanks to information added in "Courts-circuits," we discover, in fact, that the generative process of Leçon de choses is not linear but rather circular: each of the three plots contains the seed of one of the others, so that the novel might best be emblematized by a three-way yin-yang diagram. (p. 141)

Simon's "Générique" provides a general, static statement of "fact": the description of a rubble-strewn room, from which subsequent actions in the novel will be generated. "Générique," then, corresponds to Mircea Eliade's concept of myth: the legend, in the form of a script, of some event from the time of creation. The rest of Leçon de choses amounts to a series of expanded reiterations of the "givens" of "Générique"; that so many of these reiterations are, as we have seen, mutually metaphorical or, on the level of linguistic generation, paranomastic, is a good measure of their metaphorical relationship to the elements contained in the "legend" of "Générique." Each "plot" of Leçon de choses repeats and embellishes the material of the first paragraphs, and so we are justified in seeing the "plots" of the novel playing ritual to "Générique"'s myth. Thus, even in a novel which does not in theory signify beyond itself, mental structure, as reflected in myth and its relationship to ritual, does not simply disappear; rather, it is displaced to the level of form…. For Claude Simon, the novel is a myth offering some form of aesthetic salvation in the modern age. Interacting with and extending his plots, the reader joins in the rituals of the Simonian novel, thereby participating in the author's myth of art. (pp. 141-42)