Remembering Derrida

Away from South Staffordshire, last night I attended the annual Christmas party organised by the in-laws to one of my closest friends.

This is always great fun, with a mix across generations and geography – some older friends living up the road, other younger ones travelling in usually from work. I arrived just after the carol-singing and recognised familiar faces from previous year’s festivities. Conversations were resumed where they had left off, ranging from politics to film-making, British comedy to painting and babies to grandparents. However this time something unexpected came up.

After finishing reading a bedtime story to my friend’s two children, I made my way into the kitchen where I was introduced to a demure-looking lady. She explained her professional background lay in literary theory, with an acute interest in continental philosophy. Asked whether she followed the work of the late Jacques Derrida, she responded positively and explained that she had met the professor when he had last visited the UK – he had kissed her on both cheeks and she had nearly fainted!

Jacques Derrida was a French philosopher/ literary theorist whose work on deconstruction provoked fascination and ridicule alike. Born in 1930, he passed away in 2004. Our paths had crossed earlier in 1992, when I was a doctoral student at Cambridge. I was in the habit of attending fringe seminars and was sitting in a philosophy class when his name cropped up, only to be dismissed by the lecturer. Later in the term, the controversy flared higher when the University authorities awarded Derrida an honorary doctorate, despite vehement opposition from members of the University’s own philosophy faculty and others (see letter here). A series of lectures was organised in Cambridge to cast illumination on Derrida’s work, culminating in Derrida himself coming over to present a seminar and open lecture prior to receiving his doctorate.

When the dates of his talks came up, I made sure I was early in the queue. It wouldn't be appropriate here to try and describe his presentation from beginning to end – for an introduction to his work, try to get hold of copy of a book by Christopher Norris titled “Derrida” and originally published by Fontana (see here). Needless to say, for both those who were either enthralled or enraged by his work, he demonstrated an acute sense of intellectual curiosity, accuracy and wit. Afterwards I asked him to sign a leaflet advertising the seminar, which also featured a poem written by Paul de Man concerning the Holocaust. Seeing his face contort with anxiety, I immediately felt foolish – it must have bordered on the sacrilegious for him to deface such a text with an ‘autograph’. Nevertheless he obliged, and I was left with a rather foolish memento of an extraordinary occasion.

Reflecting on his life and the dispute around his work, I’m saddened that such a clever and kind person attracted such energetic attempts to isolate and disown him. Regardless, I’m glad to have had that conversation at last night’s Christmas party and for my memory and curiosity to be re-awakened.