Still how far do we get (2002), there is a little article, not very flattering, devoted to Emile Cioran, writer and "private thinker" as he said, born in Romania and died in France, in 1995. I read just after his death in the summer of 1995 I had just had my tank. I bought the big book Quarto Gallimard and I put into the oven all the work of Cioran, so I spent my time in a campground. Disappointed lovingly at the time, I immediately joined the frenzied romanticism about acids and the author, without understanding what he said exactly. But I retained the idea that progress is an illusion, there is no progress. Moreover, without really read (this is not essential reading), I've kept the affection and admiration.
Soral executes quickly. "A writer who insists on you demonstrate, through an infinitely painstaking work, it is imperative to do nothing and despair of all, would seem a little inconsistent at all very suspicious." - "As usual when it stinks, I am inquiring a bit about this paradox champion and, as often, I find the pot to the roses: (...) I learned that the suicidal Standing seventh (sixth, actually) had been in his youth a young journalist hitlérophile ... The thing was of course known to all insiders (intellectuals, critics, publishers )..." Admittedly, E. Cioran was inconsistent, was everything you want: youth dropped thinker, writer Women's neurasthenic, metaphysician convenient maintained by his girlfriend, eternal student whiny and irresponsible thinker saved by morbid snobbery, compiler of crap elegant philosopher of cliche and sentence Untimely Meditation guru suicide deferred thinker sissy to 10 000 contradictions. .. Cioran is all that. Note that it really would have killed himself if he had emigrated to a country like Germany or England, because no one took seriously its elegant despair!
But it was, as A. Soral moreover, a guy who, being young, did not return to pan. When Professors of philosophy publishing books are made for true philosophers, so that they are professors of philosophy (not even for Finkielkraut) publishing books, E. Cioran sought him driving in his life (while admitting its failure), which is characteristic of the philosopher. Arrived in France in 1937, it has long been unknown until the mid-80s, basically, when he published in France since the '50s ("I was totally unknown for thirty years, my books not sell at all (...) ... the only important years are those of anonymity. Being unknown, it is a pleasure, it has side sometimes bitter, but it an extraordinary state "). He refused literary prizes (Sainte-Beuve, Nimier), does not seek publicity, lived meagerly (even maintained), not traveling (" Columbus was eager to space because it was unfinished religiously "). That said, he has, in the late 30s, what would be fun, traveled through France by bike.
It was an inexhaustible drive. the same repetitive things (everything is in its first book, written in Romanian), he was busy reading to deepen what he said, without insisting too much, the rest (two pounds per decade). He said do not like writing and one can believe him when he speaks of writing as a catharsis, intended only to get rid of an overflow. He had the spectacle of Parisian literary life under the eyes where those who write too much and do not even read! and he is somehow protected even if he failed to leave Paris. "Old age is a shipwreck," he said. After a lifetime of pondering on death, he has forgotten the curses of his youth and instead of dying with dignity, what would be expected of him, he died like an idiot at the hospital, suffering from Alzheimer's! It's basically the whole side social life that was taking revenge for him. Incurable narcissist, he was willing to speak only of self, the psychology of the saints and other success stories, psychology of nations key, which verges on cliche and never in the company's accident, the other in economic and social . He never made a comment on social origin. Also, it has never been relevant on the movement of this nature and his insights into politics sometimes stayed very literary ("... it is not in office to do politics, but in shows, with women ").
Sources: The Book of Lures (1936), interviews (95), routes of life, by G. Liceanu (95), Anthology of portraiture (96) ... Continued ...
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