ABSTRACT

Where do we go from here? How may we hope to ever escape the endless self-parodying of postmodernism which announces the ‘end’ of everything but itself? And if postmodernism subverts the very opposition between the imaginary and the real, to the point where each dissolves into an empty imitation of the other, can we still speak of imagination at all? Does imagination itself not threaten to disappear with the disappearance of man? Is there life, for the human imagination, after deconstruction? Has the very notion of a postmodern imagination become a contradiction in terms?