Abstract

The characters in The Dead Class are neither individualized nor clear-cut and unambiguous. As if pasted or stitched together from ill-matched parts: remnants of their childhood, the vicissitudes of their (not always creditable) lives, their dreams and passions, they fall apart and become transformed with every minute, and through this continuous motion and theatre running riot, they progress inexorably to their final form which is irrevocably transfixed and is to encompass the Entire Memory of The Dead Class. Final preparations are hastily made for the Grand Game With Emptiness.

Full Text
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