“Perturbation, my sister, the hundred headless woman.”
When one thinks of Max Ernst, one might reflect upon his paintings, his role in surrealism, and maybe even his love affairs. But his collage novels are unique experiences. The Hundred Headless Woman was published in 1929, comprising of engraved collages from old Victorian books and magazines. André Breton, who wrote the introduction, sang its praises, and while today we can consider it as a precursor to the graphic novel, this is a volume that remains a classic in and of itself.
“So who is the hundred headless woman?” You might ask. Well, there’s no simple answer. From what I gathered, she’s one part cosmic entity, one part harbinger of fate, and maybe one part amoral. For all that we see and feel of her presence, mystery surrounds her. “The eye without eyes” who moves through landscapes, the woman who “opens her august sleeve” when manifesting/witnessing events, and the woman who always seems to “keep her secret.”
Though separated into chapters, there really isn’t a plot. Loose structure, maybe. But really it’s about the reader becoming entranced with the images, allowing the associated captions to blend and merge but not completely fuel interpretation. A great addition to a bookshelf of surreal literature.
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