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fragment of the novel Thomas the Obscure, by Maurice Blanchot

Essential Piece Chapter IV of Thomas the Obscure, novel by French writer Maurice Blanchot, author of The Writing of Disaster, The literary space unfinished dialogue, the book to come and step (not) beyond.

Thomas was reading in his room. He sat with his hands clasped over his forehead, thumbs pressed against the root of the hair, so absorbed that not budge when someone opened the door. Those who came, saw the book open on the same page always thought that pretending to read. But I read. Read with care and attention second to none. Was, with every sign in the situation where the male is when the praying mantis will devour. Both of them were observed. The words, taken from a book that took on a deadly force exerted on the eye, which played a sweet and pleasant attraction at a time. One by one, like an eye half closed, were left to penetrate the intense look that otherwise would not have supported. Thomas slipped, then, for those corridors, helpless, until he was struck by the intimacy of the word. It was not to be alarmed yet, in contrast, was a most enjoyable time he would have liked to prolong. The reader felt happy that spark of life that have fueled doubts. He seemed to delight in that eye I saw him. His pleasure was even too big. It was so big, so implacable, that he endured with a kind of terror and, joining unbearable time without receiving any sign of his interlocutor accomplice, received all the strangeness that had to be observed by a word as a living being and not only by words but by every word that inhabited that word, for all those that attended and, in turn, contained in themselves so many words, like a procession of angels unfold to the eye to infinity of the absolute. Far from departing from a text so well defended, surrendered with all his might to appropriate it, stubbornly refusing to remove the eye, thinking he was still a deep reader, when the words took hold of him and began to read. He was trapped, molded hands intelligible, bitten by a tooth full of sap penetrated his body alive, anonymous forms of words, giving them substance, basing their relationships, providing the word be your self. For hours he remained motionless, his eyes word from time to time, in place of eyes was inert, fascinated and naked. Even later, when delivered to the contemplation of the book was recognized with displeasure in the form of text that read, was convinced that in his person, private longer meaningful, lived obscure words, disembodied souls and angels busily exploring words that, while perched on his shoulders and the word is the word I initiated the slaughter.

Excerpt from the new version of Thomas the Obscure, Manuel Arranz translation, published in the Editorial Pre-texts.