Michael, who I never knew
Michael Benedikt and George E. Wellwarth edited Modern French Theatre: The
Avant-Garde, Dada, and Surrealism. I recently bought a used copy of the
book, first edition. It might have been Benedikt's first book. There's an
author's signature on the title page, and an inscription inside the front
cover:
for Mother dear
and F.F.
with thanks for the right genes,
Michael
Michael Benedikt was born in 1935 and died in 2007. I didn't know him.
There is something uncanny about the inscription. Michael Benedikt lived
72 years. I think perhaps he gave this to his mother with a sense of
pride; he was 29. I think to myself: He gave this book to his mother and
F.F., perhaps a father. His mother and perhaps F.F. died, and Michael
inherited. It would have been sad for the book to be returned to him,
after a temporary journey of pride and happiness. And then Michael died
and someone, perhaps a wife or other relative, sold or gave away some of
his books, perhaps all of them, and this was one of them. And so Modern
French Theater ends up in Adam Tobin's book-store, coming from somewhere,
somewhere unknown, perhaps untraceable, and I am reading and learning a
great deal, revisiting some old friends, playwrights within. I fear death,
death dominates me; I am constantly fighting off depression as best I can.
As we run out of money, depression and stress increase. And I think: soon
this book will be passed on, and I am less than a silent witness to its
passing. So perhaps this is the singing of a solitary and mournful note,
so that its passing will be remembered. And perhaps this will be forgotten
as well.
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