In Monolingualism of the Other; or, the Prosthesis of Origin, Jacques Derrida begins with an inscription, in it, he is ma(r)king a space to reflect on language, to write about speech. He says, "I only have one language; it is not mine." Within this contradiction, Derrida points to the possession and nonpossession of language. On the one hand, he says that he is "monolingual", "that he lives within this habitat of one language. He inhabits it and it inhabits him". He declares, "It is impassable, indisputable: I cannot challenge it except by testifying to its omnipresence in me. it would always have preceded me. It is me. For me, this monolingualism is me" (1998, 1, italics his). On the other hand, this language will never belong to Derrida, nor has it ever belonged to him. Language, for him, is a double-edged sword, causing both suffering and pleasure. It creates him and confines him, and yet, he cannot possess it because it never was his to possess. "Yes, I only have one language, yet it is not mine" (1998, 2). Derrida's confession turns into two propositions: "1. We only ever speak one language. 2. We never speak only one language" (1998, 7).¹ The singular has transgressed into the collective, the particular into the general. Thus from Derrida's first move, the reader becomes aware that the demonstration of this text will move between the autobiographical tendencies of metaphysics and the metaphysical inclinations of autobiography. Derrida chooses to address these propositions through a series of reflections on language and culture—the cultural speech of a Franco-Maghrebian.² The topic of culture, as will be shown, also proves to cut both ways since Derrida professes his love for "pure French," a language that simultaneously reinforces his cultural alienation as an Algerian Jew (Derrida 1998, 44—58).