It has been suggested, in not so subtle words, by many a reader that Derrida’s writing is extremely difficult. Some have gone so far as calling his treatments of language linguistically convoluted. When the man himself was asked about this he responded as follows. “I suffer from it, yes, don’t laugh, and I do everything I think possible or acceptable to escape from this trap. But someone in me must get some benefit from it: a certain relation. In order to explain this, it would be necessary to draw out some very ancient things from my history, and make them speak with others, very present, from a social or historical scene that I try to take into account. It is out of the question to analyze this “relation” while improvising in front of this tape recorder, at this speed.
But don’t you think that those who accuse me in the way you described understand the essential of what they claim not to understand, namely, that it is a matter first of all of putting into question a certain scene of reading and evaluation, with its familiar comforts, its interests, its programs of every kind? No one gets angry at a mathematician or a physicist whom he or she doesn’t understand at all, or at someone who speaks a foreign language, but rather at someone who tampers with Your own language, with this “relation” precisely, which is yours… I assure you that I never give in to the temptation to be difficult just for the sake of being difficult. That would be too ridiculous. It’s just that I believe in the necessity of taking time or, if you prefer, of letting time, of not erasing the folds. For philosophical or political reasons, this problem of communication and receivability, in its new techno-economic givens, is more serious than ever for everyone; one can live it only with malaise, contradiction, and compromise.”
Given the way in which communications are in accelerated modes, whether in the form of body language, spoken word, written word, or moving pictures, Derrida’s work is indeed difficult to grasp. One needs to do further reading to prepare for Derrida. Moreover, one ought to cogitate with Derrida’s writing. First soak it in and then absorb the finer points. It is only upon reflection that one can gain access to Derrida’s thoughtfulness. In the end, it is always worth the trouble, because it will most certainly give one a deeper understanding of the human condition. This is of course not unlike what visual arts like Picasso’s paintings do for us. They teach us about the complexities of the human condition.