Jean Genet’s Our Lady of the Flowers (1943) is an example of French existentialism with themes of marginalization. It is narrated by Jean, one of the main characters, who retells the story of his life from prison; he is creating the characters and situations in his head and then transplanting personalities he meets in prison to recreate people from his own life. The reader doesn’t know who the narrator is, except that he has interacted with these less-than-laudable characters in incredibly intimate ways and engaging in these interactions is probably what caused his imprisonment.

There is very real pain and longing in this narrator, which comes across in the way he tells his story and by his choice of characters (recreating his mother, for instance, or retelling the story of his first “love”). The story offers a stark portrait of life for French homosexuals in the 1940s. Much of what the narrator is writing seems to be for his own purpose, to entertain himself and to “assist” him.  Jean-Paul Sartre called this book an “epic of masturbation” for good reason.  It is, of course, also about transgression as means to freedom and trans-valuation of morals as means for expression.

At the center of the story is a trio of characters: Darling Daintyfoot, a masculine gay pimp, Divine, his drag queen lover and Our Lady of the Flowers, a thief and murderer. There is also the book’s narrator who refers to himself as Jean, so we are perhaps to assume that the book is at least semi-autobiographical. The reader spends most of her time with two characters; first, with Jean in prison as he writes his story and comments on the things happening around him, and also with Divine as he (she) plays the part of betrayed/scorned lover.

 These two characters have clear similarities, including doubts about self-image and sensitivities to jealousy.

Darling and Our Lady of the Flowers (AKA Danie, AKA Maurice) have distinct personalities as well.  Darling is clearly self-absorbed and a bit oblivious. Our Lady is naïve but dangerous. They both seem to be incredible lovers, so although Divine wants to exit from this ménage-a-trois, he (she) can’t seem to pull herself away.

The language and prose are perhaps the strongest elements of the book. There is a paradoxical beauty to this story; it is a rather crude, bare tale, but it is told so beautifully, so ethereally, that one almost forgets what exactly it is they are reading about. That being said, the style leaves a bit to be desired. Although the language is gorgeous and though Genet has a clear mastery of prose, the loftiness of it, coupled with the fact that there are no chapter breaks, often makes the reader feel as if she is swimming through gelatin.  There is some fluidity, but also a thickness that can become oppressive at times.

This “inside-look” at the periphery of French society is interesting and ground-breaking. Never had there been such an overt presentation of gay culture and lifestyle in literature. What Genet does with inversion of principals (death as erotic; betrayal a virtue; murder as sexual virility and attraction) is interesting in and of itself, but particularly as a means to an end, the end being liberation and freedom for gays and lesbians. 

There is a deep fear and sadness woven through this story, too, spoken softly at times but more often only implied. These are the fear for one’s physical safety and the sadness over one’s lack of legal status. Much of what Genet writes in this book and much of what the French homosexual population was battling in the 1940s is what other cultures continue to struggle with now, so for modern readers this one remains current and relevant.

Excerpts:

"My heart's in my hand, and my hand is pierced, and my hand's in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught."

"The despondency that follows makes me feel somewhat like a shipwrecked man who spies a sail, sees himself saved, and suddenly remembers that the lens of his spyglass has a flaw, a blurred spot -- the sail he has seen."