Warming Up
It was so cold, the rain would hit the ground as though it were glass, shattering upon impact. Five minutes after leaving my hotel, I was completely drenched, worse, freezing in the cold winter air. Having just arrived from Tel Aviv, I was about as unprepared for a Paris winter as I possibly could be. It was the middle of February, and I didn’t have a single piece of waterproof clothing on me.
The only other consistent feature of my visit were the superfluous copies of Spectres de Marx on display in bookshop windows. Not yet released in English, Jacques Derrida’s controversial 1994 book, about the increased relevance of Marxism, immediately following the Cold War, was a shock to many, especially those leftists dubious of his progressive credentials.
So bitter, in fact, was the book’s reception by the Marxists I knew, I decided to steer clear of it, frightened as I was of taking sides in disputes about post-structuralism at the time. Besides, back then, Derrida’s work didn’t speak to me. Much to my surprise, was my desire to finally read the book, upon seeing the late philosopher’s face, in a Marais bookstore window, on Monday.