“How curious the idea is definitely, how curious the idea can be, ” as they roulade in The Bald Soprano, no roots, no beginning, no authenticity, virtually no, little, only unmeaning, and surely no higher power—though the particular Emperor turns up invisibly inside the Chairs, as through a “marvelous dream …, the paradisiaco gaze, the particular noble facial area, the overhead, the radiance of His or her Majesty, ” the Classic Man's “last recourse” (149–50), as they states, just before he entrusts his / her communication to the Orator plus throws himself out the particular window, leaving behind us in order to discover that the Orator is deaf and not smart. Thus the delusion of hierarchy and, spoken or unspoken, the futile counter or vacuity of speech. But even more curious, “what a coincidence! ” (17) is how this specific vacant datum of the Absurd became the litany of deconstruction, which shrubs its gambling bets, however, on a devastating nothingness simply by letting metaphysics throughout following presumably rubbing it, that will is, putting it “under erasure” (sous rature), because Derrida does in his / her grammatology, conceding what Nietzsche explained to us, that The almighty can be dead, but applying the term anyhow, since we can almost never think without it, or maybe other transcendental signifiers, such as beauty or eternity—which are really, certainly, the words spoken by simply the Old Man for you to the hidden Belle throughout The Chairs, grieving what exactly they didn't dare, a lost love, “Everything . lost, lost, lost” (133).
There would appear to help be parody here, plus one might assume that Ionesco—in a type of ancestry from Nietzsche to poststructuralist thought—would not only refuse the older metaphysics but laugh as well from the ridiculousness of any kind of nostalgia to get it, since for the originary time of a sparkling beauty endowed with Platonic truth. As well as the Orator who shows up dressed as “a common painter or poet of the nineteenth century” (154) is usually, with his histrionic manner plus conceited air, surely certainly not Lamartine, which demands “Eternité, néant, passé, sombre abîme” (“Eternity, nothingness, past—dark abyss”) to return the particular sublime raptures they have got stolen; nor is this individual remotely the figure of Keats with his Grecian urn, teasing us away of concept in equating beauty in addition to reality. Precisely what we have alternatively, around Amédée or How to Get Free of It, is the spellbinding beauty of the fact that which, when they miss to close the lids, emanates from the eyes, which usually don't have aged—“Great green sight. Shining like beacons”—of the incurably growing corpse. “We might get along without his / her sort of magnificence, ” says Madeleine, the sour in addition to unhealthy girlfriend, “it requires up as well much living space. ” Although Amédée will be fascinated by the transfiguring growth of its ineluctable presence, which might have come from the abyss of what exactly is lost, lost, misplaced. “He's growing. It's really healthy. He's branching out and about. ”3 But if there's anything gorgeous here, this seems to come—if not necessarily from the Romantic interval or one of often the more memorable futurist graphics, Boccioni's The Body Ascending (Amédée's family name is usually Buccinioni)—from another poetic reference: “That corpse you placed last year in the garden, or Has that begun for you to sprout? ” It's as though Ionesco had been picking up, practically, Big t. S. Eliot's issue throughout The Waste Land: “Will it bloom this season? ”4 If the idea certainly not only flowers, or maybe balloons, but lures away, getting Amédée together with it, typically the oracle connected with Keats's urn—all you know that is known in addition to all you need for you to know—seems a new far yowl from the humorous mordancy of this transcendence, or perhaps what in The Chairs, set up Orator had voiced, could have radiated upon offspring, otherwise from the eye of a good corpse, coming from the light from the Classic Man's mind (157).
Nevertheless the truth is of which, regarding Ionesco, the Eccentric is predicated on “the storage of a storage of a memory” connected with a good actual pastoral, magnificence and truth in dynamics, if not quite nevertheless in art. Or hence it appears in “Why Do I Write? A Summing Right up, ” where they subpoena up his the child years on the Mill of the Chapelle-Anthenaise, a farm inside St-Jean-sur-Mayenne, “the land, this bar, the hearth. ”5 Whatever it was there he didn't know, just like the priest's questions at his / her first église, it was generally there, also, that he was “conscious of getting alive. … I actually existed, ” they states, “in happiness, joy, figuring out in some manner that each moment has been fullness without knowing the particular word bounties. I were living in some sort of sort of dazzlement. ” Whatever subsequently happened to impair this specific radiant time, the dazzle proceeds in memory, as something additional than fool's gold: “the world was initially wonderful, and I was alert to it, everything was clean and pure. I replicate: it is to locate this magnificence again, in one piece in the mud”—which, while a site of the particular Stupid, he shares together with Beckett—“that I write fictional works. All my books, all my takes on are usually a call, the appearance of a nostalgia, the research for a treasure buried inside the water, lost in the misfortune involving history” (6).
