The Instant of My Death and Demeure: Fiction and Testimony Book

This is a review, a review in abeyance.
A mastery of nuance is also on display. That would be Blanchot. Parsing his brief work, there was always a subtle gleam to be explored, appreciated.

As to Derrida, I kept rereading. I noted that I read most pages at least three times. My normal life doesn't exactly champion such rigor.

I found Derrida's framing observation, the one which explored differentiated testament and literature to be wonderful, revelatory. I think the distinction is necessary in our approach to Karl Ove, especially through the Norwegian's meditation on Hitler.


There are beautiful passages on Dostoevsy and Vlasov, neither of which you imagined to be germane. That is, not German. I oculdn't resist trying that, as certainly Derrida always felt the revealing spark of the pun and the shared or adjacent etymology.


The opening selection by Blanchot approximates the autobiographical. It is a from the waning days of the Occupation. There is to be a summary execution and then there isn't. Derrida ponders the release of the former instance and the contractual baggage of the latter.


Despite the opacity of the argument, this is a marvelous triumph of poetic association.