The Seventh Function of Language

“Except that, in addition to their function of … um, their usefulness … these objects also possess a symbolic value … as if they could speak, if you like: they tell us things. That chair, for example, that you’re sitting on, with its zero design, its low-quality varnished wood, and its rusted frame, tells us that we are in a community that doesn’t care about comfort or aesthetics and that has no money. Added to this, those mingled smells of bad food and cannabis confirm that we’re in a higher-education establishment. In the same way, your manner of dressing signals your profession: you wear a suit, which indicates an executive job, but your clothes are cheap, which implies a modest salary and/or an absence of interest in your appearance; so you belong to a profession in which presentation doesn’t matter, or not very much. Your shoes are badly scuffed, and you came here in a car, which signifies that you are not deskbound—you are out and about in your job. An executive who leaves his office is very likely to be assigned some kind of inspection work.”

“I see,” says Bayard. (A long silence, during which Herzog can hear the man in lizard-skin boots telling his fascinated audience how, back when he was head of the Armed Spinozist Faction, he defeated the Young Hegelians.) “Then again, I know where I am, because there’s a sign saying ‘University of Vincennes—Paris 8’ over the entrance. And the word ‘Police’ is also written in bold on the red, white, and blue card I showed you when I came to talk to you after your lecture, so I don’t really see where you’re going with this.”

Simon Herzog starts to sweat. This conversation brings back painful memories of oral exams. Don’t panic, just concentrate. Don’t focus on the seconds passing in silence; ignore the falsely sanctimonious attitude of the sadistic examiner who is secretly enjoying his institutional superiority and the suffering he’s inflicting on you because in the past he suffered the same himself. The young postgrad thinks fast, attentively observing the man facing him, and proceeds methodically, stage by stage, as he’s been taught. Then, when he feels ready, he lets a few further seconds pass, and says:

“You fought in Algeria; you have been married twice; you are separated from your second wife; you have a daughter under twenty, with whom you have a difficult relationship; you voted for Giscard in both rounds of the last presidential election, and you’ll do the same again next year; you lost a colleague in the line of duty, perhaps it was your own fault, in any case you blame yourself or feel bad about it, though your superiors decided it was not your responsibility. And you went to see the latest James Bond film at the cinema, but you prefer a good Maigret on TV or films starring Lino Ventura.”

A very, very long silence. At the other end of the room, the reincarnation of Spinoza is recounting, to the cheers of the crowd, how he and his gang overcame the Fourier Rose group. Bayard mutters tonelessly:

“What makes you say that?”