All my plays are a new call up and the manifestation of nostalgia
“How curious it is usually, exactly how curious this is usually, ” as they chant in The Bald Voz, no roots, virtually no origin, no authenticity, simply no, little or nothing, only unmeaning, and even certainly no higher power—though this Emperor turns up invisibly in The Chairs, as coming from a “marvelous dream :., the paradisiaco gaze, typically the noble encounter, the crowns, the radiance of His or her Majesty, ” the Ancient Man's “last recourse” (149–50), as this individual tells, prior to he entrusts the communication to the Orator in addition to throws himself out the window, leaving us to discover that the Orator is deaf and idiotic. Thus the delusion regarding hierarchy and, spoken or even unspoken, the futile vanity or vacuity of talk. But even more curious, “what a coincidence! ” (17) is how this specific bare datum of the particular Absurd grew to become the ton of deconstruction, which hedges its wagers, however, on a devastating nothingness by way of letting metaphysics around following presumably rubbing it, of which is, putting it “under erasure” (sous rature), while Derrida does in his / her grammatology, conceding what Nietzsche instructed us, that Our god can be dead, but using the statement anyhow, for the reason that we can hardly think without it, or some other transcendental signifiers, for example attractiveness or eternity—which may be, without a doubt, the words spoken by simply the Old Man for you to the unseen Belle in The Chairs, mourning exactly what they didn't dare, a new lost love, “Everything :. lost, lost, lost” (133).
There would appear to be parody here, and one might assume that Ionesco—in a brand of descent from Nietzsche to poststructuralist thought—would not only disclaim the older metaphysics but laugh as well from the ridiculousness of almost any nostalgia intended for this, since for the originary time of a glowing beauty endowed with Platonic truth. As well as the Orator who is found dressed as “a common painter or poet in the nineteenth century” (154) is usually, with his histrionic fashion and even conceited air, definitely certainly not Lamartine, who questions “Eternité, néant, passé, sombre abîme” (“Eternity, nothingness, past—dark abyss”) to return the sublime raptures they include stolen; nor is he or she remotely the figure associated with Keats with his Grecian urn, teasing us out of thought in equating beauty and simple fact. What we have as an alternative, throughout Amédée or The way to get Purge of It, is this spellbinding beauty of that will which, when they miss to close the lids, emanates from the eyes, which will have not aged—“Great green face. Glowing like buy ”—of the particular incurably growing corpse. “We could get along without their form of beauty, ” says Madeleine, the sour together with bitter better half, “it will take up too much room. ” Nonetheless Amédée can be fascinated by means of the transfiguring growth of it has the ineluctable presence, which might attended from the abyss involving what exactly is lost, lost, misplaced. “He's growing. It's very normal. He's branching out and about. ”3 But if there is anything beautiful here, the idea seems to come—if certainly not from the Romantic interval or one of the more memorable futurist pictures, Boccioni's The Body Ascending (Amédée's family name can be Buccinioni)—from another poetic supply: “That corpse you planted last year in the garden, and Has this begun to sprout? ” It's as if Ionesco had been picking up, virtually, Testosterone levels. S. Eliot's concern in The Waste Land: “Will it bloom this calendar year? ”4 If the idea not only types, or even balloons, but jigs away, using Amédée with it, the oracle of Keats's urn—all you know on earth plus all you need to help know—seems a far yowl from the entertaining mordancy of this transcendence, or even what in The Seats, set up Orator had talked, could have radiated upon great grandchildren, otherwise from the sight of some sort of corpse, coming from the light of the Ancient Man's mind (157).
Yet the truth is that will, regarding Ionesco, the Absurd is predicated on “the memory space of a memory space of a memory” associated with a actual pastoral, attractiveness and truth around nature, if not quite still in art. Or consequently this appears in “Why Must i Write? A Summing Up, ” where he / she subpoena up his years as a child at the Mill of the Chapelle-Anthenaise, a new farm inside St-Jean-sur-Mayenne, “the state, the bar, the fireside. ”5 Whatever it was now there he didn't know, such as the priest's questions at their first croyance, it seemed to be presently there, very, that they was “conscious of getting alive. … My spouse and i resided, ” he or she tells, “in happiness, joy, figuring out mysteriously that each moment seemed to be fullness without knowing the particular word fullness. I resided in the kind of dazzlement. ” Whatever next transpired to impair this specific sparkling time, the charm carries on in memory, because a thing other than fool's gold: “the world seemed to be gorgeous, and I was aware of it, everything was fresh new and pure. I repeat: it is to discover this elegance again, in one piece in the mud”—which, while a site of this Absurd, he shares using Beckett—“that I write literary runs. All my textbooks, all my has are usually a call, the reflection of a nostalgia, the research for a treasure buried throughout the water, lost in the misfortune of history” (6).