Butor's work contains great agitation and restlessness that invade every sentence. This power is at times either a positive, energetic force or a negative, uncomfortable tension. His books abound in images of birth, fecundity, energetic whirling that are always juxtaposed to those of death, disintegration, and chaos; yet these forces do not necessarily contradict but complement each other. Rage is usually manifested through violence, cruelty, and chaos. Order is necessitated by this violence and brought about through cult and ritual.

Butor's books share a basic pattern that is characteristically consistent throughout his work. They all begin with a definite goal that disintegrates as we proceed and ends in apparent defeat. Yet this failure is always projected to be a positive experience. In this paper, we offer an explanation of the nature of this negative-positive relationship and the apparent change of form after Degrés, through an examination of a subtopic of rage—chaos—in Mobile, 6810000 Litres d'eau par seconde, and Ou.¹

We do not pretend to suggest that the topic of chaos is the only viable approach to the three books chosen, for each one of them offers a rich array of interesting possibilities; however, because of the scope of this study, we have limited ourselves to the examination of the images of chaos.

Works of ethnologists and sociologists such as Roger Caillois² and Mircea Eliade³ tell us that in its general sense, chaos is characterized by an explosion of energy resulting in confusion, fragmentation, disorder, debauchery, formlessness, and excess. It is a licentious period where all taboos are broken and all boundaries disappear. A chaotic period is one of limbo, preceded by death and followed by a new creation. A state of chaos is essential for any renewal.

All of the above images are present in the three books chosen. Mobile and 6810000 represent the chaotic stage that follows the death of the author in Degrés, and Ou depicts the subsequent period of regeneration. There is a tremendous amount of energy in Mobile that is conveyed in part by a constant movement on every page. Cars, rivers, planes, trains, birds, are all in motion. This explosion of energy is reinforced by the apparent confusion and formlessness of its typography. The mere fact that the page is not presented to us with set margins and linear direction gives it a sparkling quality.

As is well known, the ordered integrity of the page in Degrés becomes shattered here. The liberties of syntax already present in Butor's previous books undergo an expansion where the idea of the traditional page is abandoned. Pages of Mobile have no fixed or identifiable form. The words seem to be thrown on the page like Pollock's ink blots, rendering every part of the page equally important. Even the grouping of these words contributes to the fast pace of the book. As an example (which Butor himself has stated in an interview),⁴ whenever birds of a particular state are mentioned, they are grouped in five and are in the shape of an arrow:

Linottes chenues,
                                                  hirondelles des rives
                                                                                becfigues bohémiens,
                                                  grosbecs des pins,
linottes communes.

(p. 181)

The arrow is usually pointed to the right, as if to suggest to turn the page. In addition, an aquatic vocabulary surfaces whenever there is mention of a state that borders a body of water. The particular grouping of the words gives the impression of the back and forth movement of the waves beating the shoreline:

Mouettes rieuses,
                                        macreuses des plages,
la mer,
                                                                                petits sternes,
                                        petits seaux,
petites pelles,
                                        petits râteaux,
petits moules,
                                        écumeurs noirs,
mouettes de Bonaparte,
                                        petits tamis noirs.

(p. 190)

Aside from the quotations, there is not much continuity in the sentences. The reader is sometimes faced with word patterns that have no meaningful relationship. A superb example of this is found on pages 320–21, where there are no grammatical restrictions or limitations. On the first page, sentences suddenly come to a stop without warning:

et qu'est-ce que vous pensez de …
                                                  je n'aurais jamais cru …
Les metros qui remontent Manhattan:
                                                  Rond-point de Christophe Colomb,
vraiment?

(p. 320)

They are disintegrated even further on the next page by not only the elimination of the subject but also by the breakdown of individual words. The traditional linear eye movement is shattered by the columnal shape of the black on the white page, changing the emphasis from horizontal to vertical:

uvez,
                                                  angez,
mal?
                                                  merci,
c'est là,
                                                  bonsoir,
je t'aime,
                                                  entrez,
ormez,
                                                  ormir,

(p. 321)

Another image of chaos—disintegration—is shown through the particular use of the quotes. Butor has explained how he has used the quotes in such a way as to alter their usual meaning.⁵ The best example of this is, of course, the way Butor quotes Thomas Jefferson. The words and thoughts of the same person are juxtaposed to reveal a very different view of him. To all the marvels of Monticello, which represents the culmination of his intellect and his innovative spirit, are juxtaposed Jefferson's biased comments to his music teacher concerning the intellectual and artistic inferiority of the Blacks. This particular arrangement of quotes is also an example of a reversal of or change from the usual order of things, where an unexpected rather than an anticipated element surfaces.

The above characteristics of chaos continue in the next book and are taken one step further. 6810000 symbolizes the final stage before rebirth. It is indicative of the deluge that engulfs and buries the old to make way for the new. It is representative of the chaotic stage principally by two means: debauchery of expression (we borrow this term from Caillois), and images of fluidity. Like Mobile, the licentiousness of expression is manifested in its syntax. It seems as if the tremendous amount of energy contained in 6810000 liters of water that fall per second infiltrates every page and gives life to the words on it. Here again, the page is treated as a surface on which words seem to bounce. The free syntax gives way to different possibilities of meaning. There is not much linear movement, nor any margins. If movement exists, it is always vertical. Chateaubriand's text is broken apart, repeated, and recycled. The written material on the page seems no longer to describe anything, but instead, create itself through the play of words. Sometimes, for example, a particular idea is expressed through different combinations of word order. For instance, “ceux qui,” “dormir,” and “ensemble” are combined to give the following different versions:

Ceux qui ont dormi pour la première fois ensemble … Ceux qui ont dormi ensemble pour la première fois depuis des années … Ceux qui dorment toutes les nuits ensemble depuis des années … Ceux qui ont tenté de varier leur nuit en venant ici … Ceux qui ne pensaient pas n'auraient pas cru qu'ils dormiraient ensemble ici cette nuit.

(pp. 158–59)

At other times, the words seem to produce each other. An apparent conversation on different levels gives way to the play of words that produce the next sentences in the conversation:

Est-ce qu'il y avait ce musée de figures de cire Mme Tussaud?
                                                  Figures de unit.
                                                                                Leurs casseroles sont usées.
Outils de nuit.
                                        Une plaque de l'Illinois.
                                                            Boue de nuit.
                                                            Leur auto couverte de boue.
                                                            Cire de nuit.

(pp. 262–63)

The phrase “figures de cire” gives way to “figure de nuit”; “usées” produces “outils de nuit”; the Illinois license plate and mud give way to the car covered with mud; and finally, “cire de nuit”—continuing the same idea of some kind of covering—sends us back to the first sentence. The above are but two examples among many in the book where the words seem to generate themselves.

The most important image in the book is of course that of fluidity. The movement of the entire work is reflective of the downward movement of the falls. 6810000 is a commentary and elaboration of two words from Chateaubriand's text, “le déluge” and “le gouffre.” The juxtaposition of these two ideas to others in the text brings us to an important aspect of the book. The falls are a “gouffre à la bouche béante” that attracts and engulfs everything. It is not by chance that this image is the one quoted most (it appears forty-six times or roughly every seven pages). What in the beginning seems to be just a quote from Chateaubriand's text, becomes closely intermingled with and related to other parts of the book as we advance. The gorge is a shrine that lures people of all ages only to whirl them down and destroy them. Its violent nature effects everything that touches it.

Just as everything that comes in contact with it is pulled down, the entire book has a downward movement toward death. This progressive degeneration is reflected in the titles of the chapters, the last four of which are a clear allusion to the underworld: “Brouillard,” “Fantômes,” “le Styx,” and “Le Froid.” The progression toward an apparent decay is also shown in the adjectives used in the book. The brilliance of the beautiful flowers and the bright colors of the beginning fade slowly and give way to images of thirst, hunger, darkness, and blood: “aigrie, dégoutée, épuisée, décue” (p. 186). The colors also begin to darken. Sometimes, the words on the page are variations of the same color: “Noir … Noires … Noire … Noir” (pp. 206–207). (This renders the color black overwhelming despite the whiteness of the almost blank pages.) New Year's Eve, described in the section entitled “Les Fantômes,” is a time to remember and sometimes be reunited with the dead. Everything points to death. In “Le Styx,” we have the description of the people who perished trying to cross the falls. All images depict darkness: “soif dans le froid … Peur dans la faim … Neige dans le noir” (pp. 260–61), echoing the darkness of death that was announced early in the book: “Dans la nuit noire … dans la pluie noire … sang … pluie de sang … pluie de sang noir … pluie de vieux sang noir dans la nuit … le sang de massacrés revenant mugissant dans la nuit noire” (pp. 135–37). However, despite all the images of death and a progressive movement toward degeneration, the book ends at 1:00 PM in March—daylight and springtime. The death is a symbolic one that will give new life. It is the deluge that destroys evil and makes way for the new world. The water symbolism is a life-giving force. According to Eliade, “Immersion in water does not mean final extinction, but simply a temporary reintegration into the formless which will be followed by new creation. …” Water “disintegrates, abolishes forms, ‘washes away sins’—at once purifying and giving new life. Its work is to precede creation and take it again to itself, it can never get beyond its mode of existence—can never express itself in forms.”⁶ The visitors, who at some point are referred to as pilgrims, travel there to be immersed in water. They must undress and leave their belongings behind if they want to come close to the gorge. (This descent is symbolic of the naked child who is immersed in water to be baptized and thus be given a new life.) The cleansing of themselves is essential for their continuous life. The visitors carry back with them souvenirs containing the picture of the falls lest they forget its power. They return to it once the image loses its potency—or example, when the image is washed out from the shirt. This place of purification periodically calls on the people to come back and cleanse themselves.

At the end of the book, the image of water as a pre-stage for rebirth completes itself, for in addition to being a purifying agent, water is a symbol of fecundity and regeneration. The gouffre—this monster with the open mouth that engulfs everything—illustrates the entry into the mouth that is symbolic of the entry into the mother's womb to be reborn again. The fecundity is also present in the symbolism of the couple. While all of Butor's previous books show the impossibility of the character to unite in love, both Mobile and 6810000 have sexual union. A non-existent element suddenly becomes common here. Compared to the other books, it becomes akin to a sexual orgy, which again is very characteristic of the chaotic period where unrestricted sexual relations represent the flowing and sacred energy of life. It is symbolic of the eruption of the creative energy. This energy will eventually give rise to a rebirth—the reappearance of the author in the next text.

Ou presents us with the stage of renewal and regeneration that follows the chaotic period. Through a ceremony of rebirth, it marks the return of the author to the book. This period is also characterized by a burst of energy that renews and gives life. Here, the return of the author coincides with the regeneration ceremony represented in much detail by the Shalako ritual of the Zuni religion. This ritual is a very important one to the Zuni. It denotes the end of one era and the beginning of another. It is the great fertility ritual performed at the winter solstice. The word itself means the coming of the gods.⁷ The reappearance of the gods through the ceremony of the Shalako is parallel to the rebirth of the author in Ou whose presence affects the structure of the book. The pages of Ou are not as confusing and formless as the ones in Mobile and 6810000. The pattern of the words becomes more linear and structured and regular pagination resurfaces. We no longer have an anonymous narration, but one with a definite author hard at work. His return, once again as in Butor's other books, marks a reexamination of the problems and possibilities of representation—in this book, the attempted description of Mount Sandia. While presenting the period of limbo by their confusion, formlessness, and licentiousness in structure, Mobile and 6810000 give direction to the creative energy and move us toward a new beginning that takes shape in Ou.

The study of the images of chaos in these books enables us not only to see them in new light but also to understand better the apparently radical change of form after Degrés. Put within the broader context of Butor's work, they represent a particular stage in a continuous movement. Although we cannot go into any detail, it should be noted that there exists a fundamental similarity between the theory of sacrifice and the general pattern of Butor's work and his concept of literary creation. Suffice it to say that Butor's entire oeuvre can be seen as a movement toward sacrifice which becomes that of the author. Many of his books represent different stages of this sacrifice: Passage de Milan—general introduction to the theme of sacrifice, L'Emploi du temps—preparation of the place of sacrifice, La Modification—the pattern of initiation, Degrés—the actual sacrifice, Mobile and 6810000—the period of chaos, and Ou and Intervalle—the fertility ritual and the return of the author to the text. Considered within the framework of the sacrificial movement, the three books discussed become a logical next step after Degrés.

Notes

1. Michel Butor, Mobile (Paris: Gallimard, 1962), 68100000 Litres d'eau par seconde (Paris: Gallimard, 1965), we shall refer to this text as 6810000, Ou (Paris: Gallimard, 1971).

2. Roger Caillois L'Homme et le sacré (Paris: Gallimard, 1950).

3. Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion, trans. Rosemary Sheed (New York: Sheed and Ward, 1958).

4. F. C. St. Aubyn, “A Propos de Mobile: 2e Entretien avec Michel Butor,” The French Review, 38 (1965), 427–40.

5. St. Aubyn, “A Propos de Mobile,” p. 437.

6. Eliade, Patterns, p. 212.

7. For more details see Dean McWilliams, The Narratives of Michel Butor: The Writer as Janus (Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press, 1978), pp. 85–94.