Title | : | Light in the Dark Room: Photography and Loss |
Author | : | |
Rating | : | |
ISBN | : | 0816644837 |
ISBN-10 | : | 9780816644834 |
Language | : | English |
Format Type | : | Hardcover |
Number of Pages | : | 240 |
Publication | : | First published November 15, 2004 |
Engaging the photographic reflections of figures as different as Roland Barthes and Claude Lévi-Strauss, Gordon Parks and Elizabeth Bishop, Light in the Dark Room offers a vision of photography as realization of loss-and a revelation of how photographs can shed light on the dark rooms of our lives. Beginning with an analysis of Roland Barthes's Camera Lucida, Prosser explores the relationship of autobiography and photography and then considers Lévi-Strauss's last published book, his photographic memoir; he uncovers the collection of photography painstakingly assembled by poet Elizabeth Bishop but never published; and he recounts the story of a forgotten Brazilian boy from the 1960s who lost his home as a result of photographs. The losses this book recalls are poignant yet universal--a son loses his mother; an anthropologist, his culture; a photographer, his youth; a poet, her lover. Among these personal and moving losses and the remarkable photographs that accompany them, Prosser weaves his own meditations on photography, on the interdependence of loss and enlightenment, on the emergence of our technologized society-and the world we have lost in the process.
Jay Prosser is lecturer in American literature at the University of Leeds. He is the author of Second Skins: The Body Narratives of Transsexuality and co-editor of Palatable Poison: Critical Perspectives on "The Well of Loneliness."
Light in the Dark Room: Photography and Loss Reviews
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Jay Prosser's main theme in this book as photography as loss. The primary figures he considers are Roland Barthes, Claude Levi-Strauss, Gordon Parks, and Elizabeth Bishop; he has some interesting things to say about each. I wasn't happy with his argumentation: he often seems to rely on word play (equivocation) or hasty generalization. And I was never convinced that loss is an inherent aspect of photography (except in a trivial sense).
Here Prosser returns to his consideration of transsexual photography, which he began in the epilogue to his Second Skins, urging now that his earlier insistence on realness of the referent rested on a misreading of Barthes. Now his emphasis is on the failure of us all, transsexual and non-transsexual alike, to achieve the real however much we desire to do so.