Yeah, well, Derrida's lucky he's already dead, because if I'd thought I could get away with stuffing him in my trunk--in the Hoffa-esque mode--he'd have been crammed in there long ago.

Not that I have a grudge about what he did to the field of Literary Studies, or his paralyzing effect on the American left, or his theories' validation of the Bush administration's contempt for a "reality-based" worldview. But hey, he's not really dead, because language has no referent, our bodies don't actually exist, and we're all just signifiers bombinating in a void, so no harm done even if I had stuffed him in my trunk in a more literal sense. Right? Right?

Does your wistful sigh indicate a desire for the Derrida litcrit in my trunk, or that you, too, would have liked to wreak vengeance on him? All I have of him are some essays in litcrit anthologies. The whole volumes of Derrida I had to buy for the MA coursework, I purged long ago.

Wow. Didn't know I was still that pissed off about deconstruction. Sorry about that.
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Sarah Avery

October 2016

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