Bataille.
Honestly, the name alone sounds impossibly cool.
It's the kind of name that sparks immediate envy. Just saying "Bataille" makes you feel like you're pulling a forbidden volume from the restricted section of a library.
And the debut novel written by a man with such a name was, predictably, far from ordinary.
It's erotic fiction.
Except it's not just pornography. It's deeply philosophical, dragging the reader into an endless, dizzying abyss. If I'd read this in high school, it probably would've warped my worldview forever. That's how impactful, bizarre, and oddly magnetic it is.
In my 100 Debuts project, I've read about ten books so far, but this is the first debut that was privately published—or rather, secretly printed underground.
It's also likely the first one where a character's virginity is taken right on the page.
Without question, it completely shattered and expanded my definition of what a novel can be.
A Forbidden Book by "The God of the Latrine"
"Why on earth did he publish something like this underground under a pseudonym?"
It's a fair question.
When Bataille released this debut in 1928, he used the pseudonym "Lord Auch."
Sounds aristocratic, doesn't it? But "Auch" was actually French slang shorthand for "the god of the toilet." Mocking authority started right on the cover.
He had to publish underground because he worked as a librarian at the Bibliothèque nationale de France. In other words, he was a respectable civil servant. There was no way he could put his real name on a manuscript filled with orgies, murder, and religious blasphemy.
1928 was a decade after the end of World War I.
It was the year before the Great Depression. Europe enjoyed a fragile peace while still bearing raw scars from the war. Traditional values were trembling at their foundations.
Right in the middle of that turmoil, Bataille penned a book that screamed defiance at morality and institution.
The first edition was limited to just 134 copies and was seized shortly after release.
Bataille's real name wouldn't appear on the cover until 1967, five years after his death.
When Death and Eros Intertwine
"If it's erotic fiction, why is death everywhere?"
I wondered the same thing.
The story follows the narrator as he meets a girl named Simone and descends into depravity through their sexual awakening.
Simone is the quintessential femme fatale.
A "woman of destiny." She cannot help destroying every man she touches, carrying an irresistible, dangerous charm. Think of the perilous beauties in film noir, only distilled into something far more extreme.
I actually picked up this book over a decade ago in college. But I didn't finish it back then. I stopped right around where Marcelle relieves herself inside the wardrobe, stunned by the sheer shock of it, and left it aside.
Revisiting it now.
I read it to the end and was astonished.
There's murder.
Death saturates every page.
Climax and death sit side by side.
In the cycling manga Yowamushi Pedal, there's a character named Sangaku Manami.
He was frail as a child and spent years confined to hospital beds. A boy who only knew the outside world through a window, until he discovered cycling. He pushes his pedals to the absolute limit until his heart pounds and his lungs burn, finding the sensation of "being alive" only at the brink of collapse when the wind hits his face.
And so he becomes a climber—a cyclist specialized in ascending steep mountains—in pursuit of that feeling.
For some reason, I remembered him.
Pain and pleasure.
Agony and ecstasy.
Death and climax.
Bataille takes us to that exact extreme. There's a fierce, unbridled energy here that makes you think, "Maybe this is what truly being alive feels like."
An Eye Unifying the World
"Why is it called Story of the Eye anyway?"
Once you read it, the brilliant layering of motifs becomes obvious.
Eyes.
Testicles.
Eggs.
All round. All white. All exposed, and all terribly fragile.
Bataille layers these images throughout the narrative. Cracking an egg and gouging an eye carry the exact same tactile texture. It's disturbing, yet strangely beautiful.
As an aspiring author, this was an eye-opening lesson in craft: how to thread a single motif throughout an entire narrative. The solitary image of an eye gives structural cohesion to the whole universe of the book.
Pulling that off in a debut is staggering.
The Aesthetics of Filth: Defiling the Heavens
"Does a novel like this really exist?"
I lost count of how many times I asked myself that while reading.
Labeling it merely as erotic fiction misses the point. Something is different.
Bataille commits fully to impurity. He takes transgression to its absolute limit.
Consider this line:
"The only thing I loved was what was considered vile. Ordinary debauchery couldn't satisfy me, because it merely soiled the act itself, leaving some pristine, pure ideal intact. The debauchery I tasted defiled not just my body and mind, but everything conceivable in between—even the starry heavens that served as our backdrop." (This is my own translation from the Japanese text, so it may differ from the official English edition.)
Incredible.
"Defiling even the starry heavens."
Amazing, isn't it?
Normally, filth is something to hide, look away from, or ignore. But Bataille pushes through vulgarity until it arrives at an inverted sense of the sublime.
Depicting the foul without compromise somehow makes it as vast as a galaxy.
Beauty doesn't just live in clean, orderly spaces.
Four Editions Across History
There are actually four distinct editions of this work.
First came the 1928 original, published underground as Lord Auch with the publisher's name concealed.
Then came the new edition, falsely dated Seville 1940, but actually published in 1947 with six engravings by Hans Bellmer in 199 copies. In 1951, it was convicted in court. Yes, convicted. There was a time when books were literally judged as crimes.
There are two other minor editions, but these two are the essential ones.
The first draft has a raw, provocative fertility.
The new edition is concise and refined.
I personally prefer the first draft. The sexual provocation is completely laid bare, filled with the fiery roughness fitting for a debut.
My Current Journey
Right now, I'm writing toward the Edogawa Ranpo Prize deadline in late January, working around the motif of the Inquisition.
Alongside my writing, I read Kazuaki Takano's award-winning Thirteen Steps. It was brilliant—I finished it in two days. Winning by unanimous decision, it felt like the textbook model for the Ranpo Prize.
I also read Takano's craft book, The Ranpo Prize Author's Method of Creation. Having worked as a screenwriter before his debut, it's packed with practical knowledge for aspiring novelists. Finishing it today, I'll turn it into concrete action starting tomorrow.
I've also started reading Takashi Tachibana's The Software of Knowledge, which was recommended in Takano's book. It's a great guide for systematically handling research material.
Also, since I found the Ranpo winner QJKJQ fascinating, I asked for recommendations along those lines and was suggested China Miéville's The City & the City. I'm around page 100 now. Honestly, I haven't fully grasped its appeal yet, but I'll keep reading a bit further.
As for writing, I spend one to two hours right after waking up each morning. I'll gradually increase my focused thinking time.
I haven't locked in the core idea yet, so I haven't jumped into full drafting, which makes me feel slightly anxious.
Still, no rushing.
Bataille wrote quietly while working his day job as a librarian. Even under a pseudonym, he simply couldn't stop himself from writing.
That's the kind of burning passion I want to hold onto.
First, I'll dive into the historical research on the Inquisition.