A pun in the title. I must mention in advance that this blog post has been translated from the French by Peggy Kamuf, who generously volunteered this service in advance with considerable trans-historical prescience, I might add.
Natalee Holloway... The most perplexing aspects of your case are threefold:
1. What in all of your particular mundane similarity to so many others brought you to a level of sainthood in the eyes of those who watch but cannot speak to your specter?
2. How is the question of our culpability in your disappearance adequately dispersed?
3. If Joran Van Der Sloot is not an example of what Hegel called a "World-Historical Individual" is anyone?
I gesture towards several of the aporias contained within this particular case, one not unlike the case evoked by Poe many years ago, also seemingly involving murder... I speak of course of the Rue Morgue, (Mortuary Road), and the ravenous baboon whose frenzied butchery terrorized that aptly named boulevard. Was Natalee cut down by a similar, natural killer? Or is the ape appropriately transmogrified into the simian Van Der Sloot? Does the parallel bend or break?
This digression will not be seen as such by the learned. The confession of Van Der Sloot is all we care about here; his espousal of the ocean's vastness surely indicates his own consciousness's spread; the body of Holloway, of the fittingly named "Nat-a-lee" (born against the wind), sacred, surely best embodies the corpse of Van Der Sloot's as yet uncomposed corpus, his "body of work." Never has a single dead white woman signified so singular a genius.
So she who was born of the leeward side of the boat must have plummeted to windward, no doubt "ballasted" by cinder-blocks made of concrete, not ash, a final irony.
Vandersloot/Van Der Sloot will rise from the ashes of this digested corpse to inaugurate a new, more spiritual democracy, among all of us who have left body parts lingering upon our plates