“I am not a writer,” asserts Benoit Jodoin in the introduction to his first essay, Why don’t I write. For twenty years, I have revolved around writing. I mean that I study it, I comment on it, I read it, without ever really putting myself into it actively, taking action: writing. »
What are the obstacles that can hinder writing? Is literary creation as accessible as the equipment it requires — paper and pencil — suggests? Can literature be a hindrance to self-expression?
From these questions, Benoit Jodoin probes the social causes which prevented him from accessing the territories of creation, from picking up the pencil, from trusting his voice, from telling his perspective, his experiences. The result ? An intimate essay that draws as much from the author’s experience as from art history, literary studies, cultural studiespopular culture and personal growth books to put into words the eventful, emotional and intellectual path of becoming a writer.
After twenty years as a student and actor in the cultural sector, the man who is also an art historian has finally decided to take up his pen. “Writing my doctoral thesis was a defining experience. It is a particular form of writing, which requires a certain objectivity, a withdrawal from the author to illuminate a subject in a scientific way. My research focused on artists who use theory as material in their work, who blur the line between the discourse around art and the work itself. I wanted to give myself permission to apply the lessons of the works I was analyzing into writing, and to find a way of doing so in which the personal informed broader theoretical reflections. »
By probing what, in him, hindered self-expression, Benoit Jodoin became interested in a certain culture of poverty in which he grew up; a culture of shame, of the rejection of sensitivity, aesthetics and vulnerability, which remains anchored in him and acts as an ideological brake on social mobility, placing him in constant inadequacy with the image he has of himself. made of itself. “I believe we need to dig deeper into this devastating truth: a certain culture of poverty transmits the idea of a small life and represses dreams under the pretext of protecting them,” he writes.
Cultural poverty
When he uses the term “poverty”, the author is not referring to the preconceived image of precariousness straight out of Germinal (hunger, homelessness, poverty), but rather to a cultural poverty, that which he associates – not without a certain contempt for himself and his roots – with popular culture. “To be poor is to lack the means that allow us to have a feeling of comfort, security, a solid base from which we can explore. Writing is an experience that requires good grounding, because it involves exposing yourself to criticism and putting yourself in danger. It also presupposes a great deal of emotional literacy, to which certain circles do not have access, being only confronted with anger or resignation. I was interested in a problem considered social and economic, to which I tried to give a sensitive and emotional response. »
According to Benoit Jodoin, the transition to writing can also be thwarted by the equivocal relationship that the working class has with work. “The latter is often associated with exploitation. It is a way of stepping aside, of submitting to the will of someone else. The idea of putting a huge amount of effort into a project that wouldn’t necessarily lead to money or even publication may seem counterintuitive. »
Exit from literary canons
For the author, accessing literary studies in no way facilitated his relationship with writing, on the contrary. Through the canonical works on the program – essentially French – he plunged into everyday bourgeois Parisian life without seeking his own reflection, in the hope of transforming himself through contact with the words of others. “When we are convinced that the life we lead is too ordinary to be the subject of writing, the shame that this produces brings us back into a position that is designed for us: that of silence, that of the reader. » “We don’t ask the poor to be creative,” he recalls in his essay.
As the literary world becomes more and more open to the diversity of voices, this paradigm could well undergo a certain reversal, by offering more readers the chance to find, through the other who writes, the words to say themselves. “Yes, but there is always the risk that we reduce literature to something that is a little outside the world, that we make it an aesthetic experience or an object of contemplation, without it bothering us. What I am trying to defend is that we must stop limiting ourselves to observations, to the description of certain social situations, and rather find how to “percolate” these ideas, transform them into new practices, new ways of speaking and teaching literature, new ways of reading and writing. »
To this, one could object that, if the reconciliation between poverty and literature exists, it nevertheless requires a problematization which is currently reserved for people in a position of privilege, who at the very least have the luxury of slowing down to begin a reflection and , above all, who already have a foot in the literary world.
“I don’t want to sound like someone who thinks literature is the key, or that everyone who isn’t passionate about books is poor in spirit. I know how violent it can be to impose literature on people who are not in situations in which they can open up. On the other hand, I believe that individuals who have a curiosity about books should benefit from more hospitable entry points. In particular, I take a detour through personal growth literature, to which many turn their noses up. Yet there are plenty of things there, including a desire to act, to repair oneself, and tools to develop emotional literacy. Entering into dialogue with this literary genre would ensure that the step is a little lower. »
For Benoit Jodoin, the key lies in the invention of a writing that makes you want to claim your subjectivity and your sovereignty, which recounts all the writings that cannot yet happen, to give them the chance to exist. To meditate.
In bookstores January 17.