From Library Journal
This book, whose title literally means "The Key to the Fields," is a gathering of surrealist Breton's various writings during his prime and mature years, from 1936 to 1952, beginning immediately after he broke with the Communist Party (although not with Marxist ideals). As if symbolic of that drive for independence, a definite quest for the freedom of literary and artistic pursuits from any political engagement is evident thoughout. Whether Breton is addressing art forms such as cinema in the essay "As in a Wood," or music in "Golden Silence," or reflecting on aesthetic issues, education, etc., intellectual autonomy is the leitmotif. Although versions of some of these pieces have appeared in English before, translators Parmentier (Bishop's Univ., Quebec) and d'Amboise, an independent poet, chose here to base their rendition solely on the original French. Thirty years after Breton's death, this volume certainly helps us view his work in its totality and continuity. Together with the forthcoming translations of Les pas perdus and Point du jour from the same publisher, it should complement any serious collection on Surrealism. Highly recommended.?Ali Houissa, Cornell Univ., Ithaca, N.Y.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Kirkus Reviews
A compendium of the French surrealist's major prose writings, from 1936 to 1952, which intriguingly exposes Breton's limitations and datedness along with his besetting enthusiasms. This surrealist exemplar, like his colleagues, sought ``the liberation of the human spirit'' through perceptual experiment. His main literary tool in this was automatism, a method of composition that abandoned the rational in order to discover more intrinsic truths lodged in the unconscious. Breton's desires to ``transform the world,'' to ``change life,'' and to ``reshape the human mind'' were subversively political as well as aesthetic in purpose. But an abiding irony of his wordage is its dogmatism and stiff, bulging verbal edifice in a collection that includes memoir, political and cultural critique, aesthetic credos, public lectures, and all- purpose rants. Though historically a rebel, Breton also conveys the contrary urges of an institution-builder or party stalwart who is indulging in a few too many partisan, chastening pronouncements. In this translation, his style comes across as baroque, with some exceptions, as when the author was inspired to reply to a precocious 12-year-old girl's letter. She asked him, ``Do you think Americans are right to give so much freedom to children or is it better, as in France, to subject them to strict discipline? . . . Do you recommend artists such as Matisse and Picasso to children?'' Called on to radically simplify his position for a child with no prior assumptions, Breton could be fetchingly ingenuous and illuminating. ``Well,'' he conceded, ``if you had been able to question me earlier, you would have found me much more self- confident.'' The paradoxes implied by a once-vernal intelligence, which now come to seem rather Wizard-of-Oz-like, recommend a reconsideration of Breton's work. --
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