by André Gide
Difficulty: Hard
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André Gide was an extremely influential, very prolific French author known for his autobiographical and moralistic works. Though he considers it to be one of his most important books, Corydon is one of his least discussed, at least in anglophone literary communities. This may be attributed to his full-throated defense of pederasty, homosexual relationships between adult men and pubescent or adolescent boys, a practice he engaged in throughout his life. Despite this complication, Corydon still has much to offer a modern reader.

Gide’s book is a series of four Socratic dialogues in which the eponymous Corydon defends the existence of homosexuality (and pederasty specifically) to an unnamed, rather obtuse narrator. His arguments range from the philosophical to the biological and historical in his attempt to prove that homosexuality is not only natural, but can also be virtuous and uplifting. He also criticizes other homosexuals for their refusal to be out and open about their sexuality, and allowing the public condemnation of them to persist.

Gide’s arguments are a mixed bag. Some have aged well, others less so, and some of them come across as weak and self-serving, even for the era. Regardless of these problems, Corydon is still an important landmark in the discourse of homosexuality, and we can see how some of his arguments contributed to the development of the current movement. One thing I found to be particularly interesting about Gide and this text is the fact that he speaks with demonstrated conviction. When he was 47 (well before Corydon was written), Gide eloped with the 15 year old Marc Allégret, and the two remained together for 11 years before Allégret discovered he preferred women. They stayed close friends even after this and Allégret went on to a successful career as a filmmaker, in part thanks to the connections he established during his time as Gide’s lover.

2 thoughts on “Corydon

  1. Pingback: Phaedrus | A Swimming-Pool Library

  2. Pingback: Alcibiades the Schoolboy | A Swimming-Pool Library

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