164 Derrida 1963–1983
Though Derrida spoke in front of just a score of people that
evening, in a little room of the Institut de Psychanalyse, in the rue
Saint-Jacques, this innovative re-reading of Freud’s texts impressed
the audience. But it was really the publication of an expanded
version in issue no. 25 of Tel Quel that brought him several posi-
tive reactions: ‘More and more, where would we be without you?’
Roland Barthes wrote to him.^25
Even though he had a considerable capacity for work, Derrida often
described himself in his letters as ‘a beast hunted down by teaching
and family duties, with no time to draw breath between lessons,
marking, errands, obligations of every kind’.^26 Shortly before, he
thought he was on the verge of a heart attack and doctors reassured
him only with diffi culty. Geneviève Bollème, whom he had seen
recently in her lovely home in Cunault, near Saumur, recommended
that he take better care of himself: ‘Your social life seems to me
the downside of your growing fame. They will both increase, but
you must defend yourself from the former in order to protect the
latter.’^27 Derrida would fi nd it very hard to follow this advice.
Jean Hyppolite, who had very much admired ‘Writing before the
letter’, wanted to publish an expanded version of the article in the
series ‘Épiméthée’. But Jean Piel and Jérôme Lindon, the latter of
whom ran Les Éditions de Minuit, wanted to launch a collection
of essays as an extension of the review Critique. And they were
very keen for Of Grammatology to be the fi rst volume in the series
- a prospect that could not have been more fl attering for Derrida.
Between the huge article published in Critique and the seminar he
had just given at Normale Sup, ‘Nature, culture, writing or the viol-
ence of the letter, from Lévi-Strauss to Rousseau’, he had all the
material necessary. But much of it still existed only in the form of
notes – a plethora of index cards and scraps of paper, with jottings
on the most varied things, including vaporetto tickets.
At the beginning of summer 1966, Derrida felt worn down,
almost out of his mind. He felt a great craving for a vacation, for
some peace and quiet, so that he could dedicate these months free
of teaching to making progress with his writing projects. But after
a few weeks of solitary work in Fresnes, then a ‘suff ocating’ confer-
ence in the Dolomites, on death and tragedy, he was on the verge
of a breakdown: ‘I’ve been forced to endure a period of “nervous”
exhaustion not far removed from “despair”. I’ve had to leave Paris
against my intentions, to get some rest here with Marguerite, Pierre,
and two nephews, as my brother-in-law is ill and has asked us to
look after them.’^28
Among the things that kept him going was his friendship with
Philippe Sollers and his close relationship with Tel Quel; this review
enabled Derrida, in highly favourable and supportive conditions, to