Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing (1990) – Hélène Cixous

It is no exaggeration to call Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Hélène Cixous a small masterpiece. A slim and sprightly book, Cixous haunted me with her notions of death, dreams, and roots pertaining to the writing process.

Three Steps felt like one long, much-needed, exhalation. I could cry over the way Cixous put the heart of my thoughts into written form. And by the end of my reading, I felt nearly exasperated at my inability to do the same. I felt cursed almost. To experience such a frighteningly metaphysical attachment to text. To be taunted by books already looming and yet to be living on my shelves.

When choosing a text I am called: I obey the call of certain texts or I am rejected by others. The texts that call me have different voices. But they all have one voice in common, they all have, with their differences, a certain music I am attuned to, and that’s the secret.

Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Hélène Cixous

The music is a nasty one. I pick up books no one should read in the fact that everyone should read them. Should know the nastiness written. There is a sense of shame in picking up a book. What unknown horror will greet me today? What gross depiction will taint me now?

Torment is not a strong enough word to describe to a non-reader the pain of being in love with text. One book can bring me to the brink of disaster and consume me with undue foreboding, while another can incite anger to such an extent that I become my most primal self, seething and frothing at the mouth. Text is my therapy and my demise.

And thanks to Cixous, I have read some of the most hated books on my shelf. The Passion According To G.H. to start, then Malina, and now The Thief’s Journal. I could share them with no one and that is where the hate stems from.

That is what we do, we pick up something in the dark. We don’t know what we will pick up. We always do this: we pick up a book, but we don’t know why. And it happens to be our parent, since the only way to find our real parent is to pick up a book in the dark. It is mysterious. Maybe it is the parent on the shelf that has chosen us, but it can’t be explained. Anyway, this is the way we happen on those books that will change our lives.

Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Hélène Cixous

Learning to Die

Let me backtrack and say I wish I could remember which hellish connection brought me to Cixous. While cursing it, I do thank it also. By it, I became exposed, my veil lifted. She is my new parent, and one, I am convinced, who was chosen for me. A parent to cause me anguish and encourage me to just pick up the damn pen and write.

I will say, though, the ladder analogy eluded me completely. In fact, I will go a step further and say I thoroughly disliked the concept of the ladder, and the idea of writing climbing anything. Perhaps I am too literal-minded but I pictured nothing; however, this did not stop me from taking away what needed taking.

I think this is why Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing is such a marvel to me. It just gave me what I needed—the truth. That I cannot escape who I am. That my whole life will need to break down and fall apart before I can write anything that truly matters. I feel sick but is that not what the truth does to you? Makes you crumple up into a little ball and seethe at your own lack of accomplishment.

Thank you, Hélène. For confusing me and making me ill with honesty. I am not sure I fit anywhere but with text. If I had to choose between people and text, I would choose the latter, ignoring it takes the former to master. I am no one without the written word. I am but a well of words and nothing more.

Writing is learning to die.

Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Hélène Cixous

Further reading:

• purple MAGAZINE interview with Hélène Cixous (2015). Click here.