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Les filles sont bien traitées, rue Sub Rosa. Elles n’ont jamais faim, jamais froid, jamais mal. Elles sont entre de bonnes mains, des mains qui leur tendent tout ce dont elles ont besoin… à une condition. Il faut accepter de combler les désirs des hommes de la ville venus faire un tour dans ce lieu surnaturel, caché, où leurs fantasmes deviennent réalité – pourvu, bien sûr, qu’ils aient un peu d’argent sur eux. Petite a tout pour se tailler une place de choix parmi les Splendides de Sub Rosa. Mais parviendra-t-elle à oublier sa vie d’avant et à exploiter son don au service de sa nouvelle maison?
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"Ils sont tournés les uns vers les autres. Ils s'observent et s'écoutent. Ils s'échangent des idées, des armes, de l'argent ou des femmes. Dans cet univers clos réservé aux hommes, le pouvoir se relaie et se perpétue à la façon d'une chorégraphie mortifère. Le boys club n'est pas une institution du passé. Il est bien vivant, tentaculaire : État, Église, armée, université, fraternités, firmes... et la liste s'allonge. À la manière d'une chasse à l'image, c'est dans les représentations au cinéma et à la télévision que Martine Delvaux le traque. Véritable plongée en eaux noires, ce livre nous invite à considérer l'entre-soi des hommes comme un phénomène régressif. Un dispositif à profaner, déconstruire, refuser, parce que nos vies comptent"--Page 4 de la couverture.
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Spanning 125 years, Art and Queer Culture is the first major historical survey to consider the ways in which the codes and cultures of homosexuality have provided a creative resource for visual artists. Attempts to trouble the conventions of gender and sexuality, to highlight the performative aspects of identity and to oppose the tyranny of the normal are all woven into the historical fabric of homosexuality and its representation. From Oscar Wilde to Ryan Trecartin, from the molly houses of eighteenth-century London to the Harlem drag balls of the 1920s, the flamboyant refusal of social and sexual norms has fuelled the creation of queer art and life throughout the modern period. Although the book proceeds in a chronological fashion, it does not propose a progressive narrative in which homosexuals become increasingly adept at negotiating the circumstances of censorship and overcoming the terms of stigma and invisibility. The dialogue between art and queer culture does not move towards ever more affirmative images of equality and dignity. Rather than countering homophobia with 'positive' images of assimilation, many of the artists and photographers featured in this book draw upon, and even draw out, the deviant force of homosexuality. Art and Queer Culture includes not only pictures made and displayed under the rubric of fine art but also those intended for private, underground or otherwise restricted audiences. Scrapbooks, amateur artworks, cartoons, bar murals, anonymous photographs, activist posters, all appear in its pages, as do paintings, sculptures, art photographs and video installations. Writing queer culture into the history of art means redrawing the boundaries of what counts as art as well as what counts as history. It means searching for cracks in the partition that separates 'high' art from 'low' culture and in the divide between public achievement and private life
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In a lecture delivered before the University of Oxford’s Anglo-French Society in 1936, Gertrude Stein described romance as “the outside thing, that . . . is always a thing to be felt inside.” Hannah Roche takes Stein’s definition as a principle for the reinterpretation of three major modernist lesbian writers, showing how literary and affective romance played a crucial yet overlooked role in the works of Stein, Radclyffe Hall, and Djuna Barnes. The Outside Thing offers original readings of both canonical and peripheral texts, including Stein’s first novel Q.E.D. (Things As They Are), Hall’s Adam’s Breed and The Well of Loneliness, and Barnes’s early writing alongside Nightwood. Is there an inside space for lesbian writing, or must it always seek refuge elsewhere? Crossing established lines of demarcation between the in and the out, the real and the romantic, and the Victorian and the modernist, The Outside Thing presents romance as a heterosexual plot upon which lesbian writers willfully set up camp. These writers boldly adopted and adapted the romance genre, Roche argues, as a means of staking a queer claim on a heteronormative institution. Refusing to submit or surrender to the “straight” traditions of the romance plot, they turned the rules to their advantage. Drawing upon extensive archival research, The Outside Thing is a significant rethinking of the interconnections between queer writing, lesbian living, and literary modernism.