Is it possible to bring Artaud’s Theater of Cruelty into the form of a novel? On the one hand, this seems counterintuitive. The dynamic expression of space combined with the physical presence of the audience make theater unique. Do not misunderstand the meaning of the word cruauté. Artaud’s fear is only in subjugation by the written text. Liberation is rediscovered through the lost language somewhere between gesture and thought. Only then will we be able to rediscover and reconnect with the “renewed exorcisism” of animated, organic, untamed life.

This language cannot be defined except by its possibilities for dynamic expression in space as opposed to the expressive possibilities of spoken dialogue.

On the other hand, the novel is perhaps most suited to his task. There are no limits to any number of possible dynamic spaces created. This is too often dismissed by literary criticism which continues to privilege form above expression. Whole worlds live inside (and outside) the novel.  As to physical presence, the connections forged between reader and author often surpass the intimacy of presence.

It is not surprising that Artaud stands accused of giving us “impossible theater”. The audience is essential to achieve the inspiration, but often is the greatest obstacle. There are only so many tricks, bells, whistles, noises, or screams to try and shake us out of our passive watching.  We are quite content with our passive reception. We are voyeurs, protected by the safety of a shroud of darkness.

This Theater may not be particularly suited for live performance. Artaud looked for any number of ways to overcome this “natural” resistance. He suggested doing away with traditional seating, placing audience members in the center as the actors perform around them.  Perhaps turning the lights on at unexpected times might jolt us into new forms of expression. But these can easily descend into shtick.  The pendulum of transgression might swing from time to time, but the tendency is to return to the equilibrium of the spoken dialogue.

So the question I start with goes unanswered. The novel may yet prove to be the proper forum for this inaugural performance, for the simple fact that the real theater exists in the combined space formed by the minds and imaginations of author and reader. Whether it will work remains to be seen. Nevertheless, we can and must dare attempt such a thing if we are ever to break free from the iron cage of modernity. We avoid Artaud’s manifesto at our risk.