Reviewed by: Monolingualism of the Other; or, the Prosthesis of Origin Didier Maleuvre Derrida, Jacques. Monolingualism of the Other; or, the Prosthesis of Origin. Trans. Patrick Mensah. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999. On closing Jacques Derrida's Monolingualism of the Other, the reader may feel satisfied that the renegade branch of philosophy is alive and well—the tradition which, since Diogenes' time, has gone cheerfully around taking cracks at the plaster idols lining the halls of academia. Derrida's role in the intellectual life of the last three decades has been that of the inspired spoilsport who, when the sailing is good, politely points to the ominous flaws in the hull. This time around, the philosopher sets his sights on exploring and exploding the concept of cultural identity—the latest product of our era's passion for sorting people into as many robustly meaningful categories as possible. This pollster mentality is what, in literature studies, has led to the sort of analysis that imagines the value of a literary artifact is evident once its author and characters are kindly shown the way to their respective cultural, social, colonial, sexual and economical "subjectivities." Part philosophical essay and part memoir, Derrida's book questions identity: "What is identity, this concept of which the transparent identity to itself is always dogmatically presupposed by so many debates on monoculturalism or multiculturalism, nationality, citizenship, and, in general, belonging?" (14). How, in other words, does it make sense to say that I have or own a native language? That I belong to a linguistic group or that such a group grants me an identity? Can one's identity be so simple that it amounts to slotting this individual piece into that collective? And if so, then just how identical will I be to my tribe and to myself? Will I have found myself then, having cleared the philosophical hurdles to selfhood, and placing my self securely before me? Doesn't anything the self may say about its circumstances first have to reckon with the fact that self-identity is necessarily split, hence is yet to be achieved, if it is able to talk about itself at all? These are the well-worn questions to which Derrida asks us to return. Like Wittgenstein, Heidegger or Austin, Derrida sees in language the lens where these questions best come into focus. And, to start with, the cultural mantra of mother tongue. Though one's native language undeniably shapes one's world, down to the minutest detail, Derrida is interested in bringing to light the network of faults whereby, in fact, acquiring and speaking a language is possible. "The language called maternal," he [End Page 170] contends, "is never purely natural, nor proper, nor inhabitable… There is no possible habitat without the difference of this exile and this nostalgia," (58). Derrida is inclined to take seriously the observation that a person does not create her original language but learns or obtains it from others; that language therefore emerges under the sign of what does not belong to me, nor to other people, who also merely share in it by using it. Expropriation and expatriation are the experiences of the linguistic agent who graduates into language by speaking the other's tongue—leaving out what he wanted to say, might have wanted to say, or could have said, had there been a speaking consciousness there before he even learned language. "'Alienation,'" Derrida therefore writes, "institutes every language as a language of the other: the impossible property of a language," (63). Indeed, the fact that I do not own the language I speak does not mean anyone else does. "Language of the other" points not to a putative other person, an originary interlocutor credited with possessing language as such; rather it describes a reality in which my speaking involves being understood or misunderstood, but in any case heard by others. So any language is a "language of the other," a transaction that cannot logically be mine (unless I inhabit a solipsistic bubble) or yours either: as Wittgenstein reminds us, there can be no such thing as a private language. Any speaker speaks in a language that bursts open the confines of the...
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