All my plays are the contact and the expression of nostalgia

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“How curious it can be, how curious that is, ” as they chant in The Balding Voz, no roots, zero origins, no authenticity, simply no, zero, only unmeaning, plus undoubtedly no higher power—though typically the Emperor turns up invisibly from the Chairs, as coming from a “marvelous dream :::., the divino gaze, the noble facial area, the top, the radiance of Their Majesty, ” the Classic Man's “last recourse” (149–50), as he / she states, in advance of he entrusts his / her communication to the Orator together with throws himself out typically the window, leaving behind us to be able to discover that the Orator is deaf and stupid. Thus the delusion of hierarchy and, spoken or perhaps unspoken, the futile counter or vacuity of presentation. But even more inquisitive, “what the coincidence! ” (17) is how this empty datensatz (fachsprachlich) of typically the Absurd evolved into the a lot of deconstruction, which shrubs its wagers, however, upon a devastating nothingness by means of letting metaphysics around soon after presumably rubbing it, that is, putting it “under erasure” (sous rature), since Derrida does in his or her grammatology, conceding what Nietzsche instructed us, that God is usually dead, but working with the statement anyhow, since we can rarely imagine without it, or even various other transcendental signifiers, including magnificence or eternity—which are, certainly, the words spoken by the Old Man for you to the invisible Belle in The Chairs, mourning what exactly they didn't dare, the lost love, “Everything . lost, lost, lost” (133).
There would appear for you to be parody here, plus one might expect that Ionesco—in a type of descent from Nietzsche for you to poststructuralist thought—would not only refuse the older metaphysics however laugh as well in the ridiculousness of any kind of nostalgia for that, since for the originary time of a radiant beauty rendered with Platonic truth. As well as the Orator who comes up dressed as “a typical painter or poet of the nineteenth century” (154) is usually, with his histrionic approach and conceited air, definitely not Lamartine, that demands “Eternité, néant, passé, sombre abîme” (“Eternity, nothingness, past—dark abyss”) to return the particular sublime raptures they possess stolen; nor is he remotely the figure associated with Keats with his Grecian urn, teasing us outside of notion in equating beauty together with simple fact. Just what camera have as an alternative, throughout Amédée or The way to get Purge of It, is typically the spellbinding beauty of the fact that which, when they miss to close the lids, emanates from the eyes, which will haven’t aged—“Great green vision. Pointing like beacons”—of the particular incurably growing corpse. “We might get along without their type of attractiveness, ” tells Madeleine, the sour in addition to bitter spouse, “it requires up also much place. ” Yet Amédée can be fascinated simply by the transfiguring growth of it has the ineluctable presence, which might have fallen from the abyss associated with precisely what is lost, lost, misplaced. “He's growing. It's rather natural. He's branching out there. ”3 But if there's anything stunning here, that seems to come—if not from the Romantic interval or one of the more memorable futurist pictures, Boccioni's The Body Climbing (Amédée's family name will be Buccinioni)—from another poetic source: “That corpse you rooted last year in your current garden, and Has that begun in order to sprout? ” It's as if Ionesco ended up picking up, actually, To. S. Eliot's concern throughout The Waste Land: “Will it bloom this year? ”4 If that not only types, as well as balloons, but flies away, consuming Amédée along with that, the particular oracle of Keats's urn—all you know on this planet in addition to all you need to know—seems a good far be sad from the amusing mordancy of this transcendence, or even what in The Recliners, even if the Orator had voiced, would have radiated upon posterity, otherwise from the eye of a new corpse, coming from the light of the Good old Man's mind (157).
Still the truth is that will, regarding Ionesco, the Stupid is definitely predicated on “the storage of a storage of a memory” involving an actual pastoral, elegance and truth within character, if not quite but in art. Or hence it appears in “Why Do I Write? A Summing Upwards, ” where he or she summons up his years as a child on the Mill of the particular Chapelle-Anthenaise, some sort of farm around St-Jean-sur-Mayenne, “the state, the particular bar, the fireside. ”5 Whatever it was generally there he didn't realize, such as priest's questions at his first église, it was now there, also, that this individual was “conscious of becoming alive. … I actually resided, ” he or she says, “in happiness, joy, learning mysteriously that each moment was fullness without knowing typically the word brings. I resided in a good type of dazzlement. ” Whatever in that case transpired to impair this lively time, the dazzle proceeds in memory, as a little something some other than fool's gold: “the world was initially gorgeous, and I was conscious of it, everything was fresh new and pure. I replicate: it is to get this magnificence again, undamaged in the mud”—which, since a site of the particular Stupid, he shares with Beckett—“that I write fictional works out. All my publications, all my runs are a call, the reflection of a nostalgia, a new visit a treasure buried within the underwater, lost within the catastrophe of history” (6).