Introduction by Sartre establishes that “for Genet, theatrical production is demoniacal” (10), inclusive of “illusion, betrayal, failure; all the categories that govern Genet’s dreams” (id.).
The first text, The Maids, concerns two servants who plan elaborate rebellions against their master, via acting out the murder. Sartre considers this as “his maids are fake women, ‘women of no gymnaeceum,’ who make men dream not of possessing a woman but of being lit up by a woman-sun” (11). They are “pure emanations of their masters and, like criminals, belong to the order of the Other” (17). Sartre notes correctly their fungibility, the “complete interchangeability” of the two servants in their metatheater (19). We see that one servant feels a time coming, she says, “when no longer a maid, you become vengeance itself” (43), which is some sort of lumpenized reaction to oppression, seeking not justice through class confrontation but rather individuated vengeance, which perhaps exceeds the norms of necessity and proportionality in the desire to kill the master. The other servant can imagine how the master “reckoned without a maid’s rebellion” (45), perhaps not giving the owners of the means of production enough credit for their repeated foresight in managing unruly servile classes. A contrast of relative levels of demystification in how one insists that “I see it as it really is, bare and mean” (50), regarding the shabby living space that the other servant claims to like—and objects that the master “loves us the way she loves her armchair” (52). They note that “grief transfigures her” (regarding the master) (57), buying into a romantic mythology, even while simultaneously wanting to “make up for the poverty of my grief by the splendor of my crime” (id.)—again, private lumpenized vengeance. Definite echo of liberation theory in the proclamation that “when slaves love one another, it’s not love” (61), consistent with the complaint of one servant to the other, “stop trying to dominate me” (48). Regarding the master, who objects that the fawning servants treat her like an “invalid” (68)—mostly because she is, like all worthless wastes of space—she requires the servants, as in Agamben’s recitation on Aristotle’s theory of economic despotism, “to represent me in the world” (97).
The second text is a prison narrative, Deathwatch, involving the politics of inmate hierarchies and how they interface with official authority. It’s conceptually interesting, violent, full of fungible persons and arbitrary confrontations—but perhaps bathetic after reading Our Lady of the Flowers.