Traces of an Artist Who Died Young
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Ghost Image
by Hervé Guibert
Translated by Robert Bononno
Chicago.  160 pages, $18.

The Mausoleum of Lovers: Journals 1976-1991
by Hervé Guibert
Translated by Nathanaël
Nightboat Books. 574 pages, $19.95

THESE TWO BOOKS provide excellent examples of Hervé Guibert’s talent and style. A French writer and photographer who died from AIDS in 1991 at the age of 36, Guibert drew much of his work from his own life and his love of photography. He was especially interested in the surprising effects photographs can produce on people, not just on the subject and observers but also on the photographer as well. He turned his journals into material for his fiction. Reading the source for his work, however, can often be a challenge, and readers unfamiliar with Guibert’s life may find it tough going.

In Ghost Image, Guibert writes about photography and its strange powers in a series of short essay-memoirs. For instance, in the title story he remembers the time as a young man when he had a photo shoot for his mother without his father’s knowledge. After carefully preparing her, “letting the purity of her features show,” he shoots a roll of film, seemingly capturing her beauty in a way never before recorded. Only afterwards does he discover that he had improperly rolled the film, so that the photos were never taken. And yet, in a strange sense, these images of his mother exist, if only in his mind. In another story, “A Cruel Act,” he considers the ability of a police photo of a missing girl to allow spectators to imagine the circumstances of her disappearance. In doing so, he writes, “the police force the passerby to commit an act of cruelty” when confronted by this image.

He also writes about those who manipulate photographs. In “The Retouching Artist” he describes the work of those experts who remove blemishes and add highlights, who know how to make changes that no one notices. He has one of these artists articulate, in a long paragraph, all of the different reasons a photograph might need “improving,” such as reinforcing “a face that lacks relief, one without modeling in the jaws or the cheekbones.” They can even remove people from an image so as to emphasize other people who might otherwise be obscured. Guibert calls these experts “magicians” who can “make a grounded airplane fly … put hair on a bald head … the dead walk.”

In “The Betrayal” he recounts the experience of someone attempting to rigorously control her public image, including her photos. An actress, referred to only as “I,” selects him to interview her. With a magazine having previously used the one photograph of her that she asked them not to use, she is obviously wary of the press, keeping Guibert waiting for the interview and playing loud music during their conversation. She orders the one photographer to give her all the contact sheets and negatives for her to inspect, “before he had even seen them.” Becoming friends with the actress despite the poor interview, he later photographs her himself as a gift. Later, however, he sells the photos to a magazine, but feeling guilty for betraying his friend, he tears up the check and retrieves them.

Guibert also composes several detailed fantasy scenes that would make perfect films or photo sequences, including one involving two men holding wands allowing electricity to slowly “pass back and forth between the two bodies,” while a third man is enclosed in a metal cage. These scenes are beautiful to imagine.

It is an interesting experience to read Ghost Image and The Mausoleum of Lovers together, as some of the experiences described in the essays also appear in the journals. For instance, in “The Fetish,” Guibert’s friend “F” discovers that his “extremely rare camera” has been stolen during a late-night train journey. Learning that stolen cameras usually end up in shops in Brussels or Amsterdam, he travels to the two cities trying to find his camera (and to take some photos), but without success. Guibert also recounts this episode, in a slightly shortened form, in his journals. Of course, they contain many other events from the last fifteen years of Guibert’s life, many of them not nearly as dramatic, though still significant. His mother and aunt begin to decline from age, requiring hospital stays and family support. His friend Michel Foucault suffers from AIDS-related illnesses and later passes away. And he must deal with his own health issues, including the gradual loss of vision. All the while he writes his books, takes photos, has love affairs, and takes vacations.

Reading the journals for information about his life, however, proves a frustrating task. There are no dates provided, and all but a few names are indicated only by initials. Even when talking about Foucault, he mentions only his first name, so one can only assume he means the philosopher. In addition, he doesn’t mention any current events, so it’s almost impossible to get a sense of time. Indeed, although he mentions a “Christine” multiple times, he doesn’t talk about his marriage to her, which was done to ensure that his royalties would pass to her and her children, or the fact that she was his friend’s partner. Most readers would probably benefit from more editorial guidance, as the only notes from the translator are to indicate when Guibert uses an English phrase. It seems safe to assume that he didn’t intend these journals to be published.

While they may be short on historical information, they are full of sexuality. Guibert frequently writes about masturbation, erections, penetration, ejaculation, and other sexual acts. At one point he mentions “T. licks my ass while I’m talking to my father on the telephone”; another time, he reveals “pains in my left eye where it seemed I let a bit of semen penetrate by rubbing my eyes after I jacked off.” He describes the attractive men he sees on the street, occasionally speaking with them and sometimes even following them to a more private spot. More often, though, he simply admires their beauty, inscribing them into his memory.

Filth is also a common subject, oftentimes linked with sex. For example, describing a young man he sees at a party, he imagines “it’s his excrement I see, inside his intestines.” He exclaims once, “if I fuck him, if I decide to fuck him, it’s first to annihilate him.” He never explains this sentiment except by his admission that “I am forced to concede that I adore wounds.” Whether Guibert is serious or not, it is certainly a striking and unusual connection.  Of course, as his own health declines, it would be easy to imagine him thinking more about illness, disease, and filth.

The Mausoleum of Lovers is a remarkable book, the private thoughts of an artist grappling with writing and photography, love and pain, life and death. While not intended for newcomers to Guibert, it provides a unique look at the source for much of his work.

Charles Green, a writer based in Annapolis, Maryland, is a frequent contributor to this magazine.