About Me

My plays are the phone and the expression of nostalgia
“How curious that is, the way curious it can be, ” as they chant in The Balding Voz, no roots, not any beginning, no authenticity, virtually no, zero, only unmeaning, in addition to surely no higher power—though often the Emperor turns up invisibly inside Chairs, as through a “marvelous dream ;-(, the puro gaze, often the noble encounter, the top, the radiance of His / her Majesty, ” the Classic Man's “last recourse” (149–50), as he tells, in advance of he entrusts the communication to the Orator together with throws himself out the window, leaving us in order to discover that the Orator is deaf and dumb. Thus the delusion associated with hierarchy and, spoken or unspoken, the futile self-importance or vacuity of talk. But even more inquisitive, “what some sort of coincidence! ” (17) is how this vacant datum of this Absurd started to be the litany of deconstruction, which hedges its gambling bets, however, upon a devastating nothingness by simply letting metaphysics inside right after presumably rubbing it, that will is, putting it “under erasure” (sous rature), while Derrida does in their grammatology, conceding what Nietzsche explained to us, that Jesus is usually dead, but applying the statement anyhow, for the reason that we can scarcely assume without it, or perhaps additional transcendental signifiers, such as attractiveness or eternity—which are, certainly, the words spoken simply by the Old Man for you to the imperceptable Belle in The Chairs, mourning exactly what they didn't dare, the lost love, “Everything :. lost, lost, lost” (133).
There would appear to be change to be parody here, plus one might expect to have of which Ionesco—in a brand of ancestry from Nietzsche to poststructuralist thought—would not only refuse the older metaphysics although laugh as well on the ridiculousness of any kind of nostalgia for this, as for the originary moments of a radiant beauty gifted with Platonic truth. And even the Orator who appears dressed as “a regular painter or poet in the nineteenth century” (154) will be, with his histrionic manner together with conceited air, undoubtedly not necessarily Lamartine, which questions “Eternité, néant, passé, sombre abîme” (“Eternity, nothingness, past—dark abyss”) to return the particular sublime raptures they have stolen; nor is he remotely the figure connected with Keats with his Grecian urn, teasing us out and about of concept in equating beauty and truth. Just what we have as a substitute, around Amédée or The way to get Rid of It, is the particular hypnotic beauty of that will which, when they miss to close the lids, reflects from the eyes, which usually have not aged—“Great green vision. Shining like beacons”—of this incurably growing corpse. “We might get along without their form of attractiveness, ” claims Madeleine, the sour in addition to poisonous better half, “it calls for up as well much living space. ” But Amédée is fascinated by way of the transfiguring growth of the ineluctable presence, which might have come from the abyss connected with what is lost, lost, dropped. “He's growing. It's rather all natural. He's branching out. ”3 But if will be certainly anything beautiful here, this seems to come—if not really from the Romantic period or one of typically the more memorable futurist pictures, Boccioni's The Body Ascending (Amédée's family name is usually Buccinioni)—from another poetic supply: “That corpse you placed last year in your garden, or Has this begun in order to sprout? ” It's as though Ionesco were being picking up, literally, Testosterone levels. S. Eliot's problem around The Waste Land: “Will it bloom this season? ”4 If this not only types, as well as balloons, but lures away, taking Amédée having this, the particular oracle associated with Keats's urn—all you know that is known and all you need to help know—seems a new far be sad from the entertaining mordancy of this transcendence, or perhaps what in The Chairs, set up Orator had voiced, might have radiated upon great grandchildren, or from the face of a corpse, via the light on the Ancient Man's mind (157).
However the truth is that will, intended for Ionesco, the Absurd is usually predicated on “the memory of a memory of a memory” regarding the actual pastoral, splendor and truth throughout character, if not quite yet in art. Or so this appears in “Why Do you Write? A Summing Way up, ” where he subpoena up his child years at the Mill of the Chapelle-Anthenaise, a good farm in St-Jean-sur-Mayenne, “the land, this bar, the hearth. ”5 Whatever it was generally there he didn't understand, just like the priest's questions at his first admission, it was initially presently there, very, that this individual was “conscious of being alive. … We been around, ” they affirms, “in happiness, joy, learning mysteriously that each moment was fullness without knowing this word brings. I been around in a new sort of dazzlement. ” Whatever next occurred to impair this sparkling time, the charm goes on in memory, because anything additional than fool's yellow metal: “the world seemed to be lovely, and I was aware about it, everything was refreshing and pure. I repeat: it is to come across this beauty again, complete in the mud”—which, since a site of the Screaming, he shares with Beckett—“that I write literary works. All my literature, all my has happen to be a call, the phrase of a nostalgia, a good search for a treasure buried in the water, lost around the catastrophe involving history” (6).