I was talking to a literature professor the other day who told me that, once, when she was having a conversation with Derrida, he confessed to her that he always wanted to be a literary critic.It's not a totally surprising confession, and I've heard similar things before. But what was new to me, what I'd never really heard before, was the "always." It's almost colloquial, of course: "I always wanted to do that..." But it also hit home to me the sort of constancy of this desire, a sort of perpetuation of it despite everything that happened. In other words, it hit home the fact that if this was true, it was a sort of longing that years and years couldn't kill off, a sort of need, more fundamental to his whole sense of self, that ranged all throughout his very long life.
I should have asked more about the circumstances of the conversation, but all this was hitting home so much that I remained silent and kept thinking. Because what was becoming interesting to me was that if this all was true--and in fact even if it wasn't, it at least was a fabrication, a story, and therefore a concern that must have been kept up for so very long that it almost would be true by virtue of that--the question would not be Why did he always want this? but, Why didn't he just become one? If he always wanted to do this, what kept him from it? So I asked this--it seems like the professor had similar thoughts and asked it too--and the response he gave was that he felt he didn't have the training.
Now, again, I've heard this before. One can find similar sentiments in "Ulysses Gramophone" all over the place, where Derrida is anxious about talking to literature professors about Joyce. And because I have heard him say this, I protested--trying to talk to Derrida, as it were, through my professor, trying to get a little more response out of her/him. This is the way one deals with him now, through his incorporations and introjections, which survive. You don't need any better proof than this of how inscription for Derrida is not merely something that happens with pencil and paper (writing in the narrow sense), but can happen precisely as oral transmission of someone's still open history, as memories that, almost completely without sadness or drama, in the routine act of conversing, write what can still be called an elegy, perform what can still be called a mourning. I said, speaking to her/him, "But that's preposterous! He must have read I.A. Richards or something!"
What I meant was that our training as literary critics can be picked up elsewhere than in our departments. This is so much the case that I was sure that he had actually already picked it up, some time still in the 50's, perhaps, over the course of a week or so while classes at the École Normale were not so demanding and other little interests could be pursued, helped by an upper or two. Or, more likely, prompted by this week or so which I imagine (and which probably happened even earlier, at Louis-le-Grand, as he has a couple papers on Shakespeare dating from this period which you can find at the Irvine archives), the interest consolidated itself and actually became training as he sat in a class or two at Harvard in '57. Regardless, I wanted to press her/him on what more "training" could possibly have meant so that he could consider himself not somehow already qualified to engage in criticism. Doubtless, it probably functioned (without being said in an ironic, sneering tone--it is of course a humble remark) as an ironic way of saying that he did not have the affiliations with an literature department that he would need so that he could be confined, as it were, to writing merely literary criticism. In other words, he always wanted to be a literary critic, but also, because of the necessities of his project, of his writing, didn't want to in a way. What he wrote necessitated that he couldn't work merely on that register--and this has its benefits as he gets to say, sometimes, more important things than we normally say.
Or maybe I cast this irony in the wrong way. It isn't a matter of him also not really wanting to do what he says he always wanted to do. It is that he perhaps indeed really wanted to do this, but that his project dictated that necessity, the necessity of being outside the discourse of literary criticism, be conceived in a different way--precisely as a necessity that one can be subject to while also wanting to do precisely the opposite of what it dictates. Derrida can want to be a literary critic, then, precisely because his writing must fall outside the register of literary criticism--and in such a way that this doesn't mean that he also thanks his stars on some level that he is not confined to our puny discourse, mere literary criticism. What he wants just cannot be in conflict with necessity, so when he says he always wanted to be a literary critic, this doesn't mean that because he wasn't one, he in truth wanted to be something different. We don't have to get him to lie to make it seem like this is why he didn't pursue this desire of his. As you can see, to do this is to begin to consider necessity as necessity, and wants as wants.
Regardless, she/he answered by saying that well, perhaps he got this training from his friend Paul de Man. And, because the tone in which she/he said this was not just matter of fact, I take this to mean something other than that he could have also had a sort of scene of initiation to the tricks of what we do, similar to the one I imagined in the '50's, in the '60's in cafes in Paris with de Man talking about Rousseau. I take it more to mean instead that his friendship with Paul de Man, as it developed more and more then and in the years to come at Yale, was perhaps the area in which this training did maybe occur. That is, if he was lying about his lack of training, it could only be here, in this friendship, that this training did indeed really happen. That means that where he was, indeed, a literary critic was not in his essays and books during the period he associated with de Man, but in the friendship with de Man itself. It is here that he did not follow the necessity that fell upon him and remained alongside his wants. Which means that it was, indeed, a real friendship, a friendship he wanted. But--and this is where I both want to leave off and must leave off--we begin to feel that what he wanted here was also, because it was really a want qua want, necessitated (which means also that the necessities too, as necessities, were wants)...