Abstract:Finnegan’s Wake, James Joyce’s night book, is the opposite of Raymond Roussel’s shining glory, his inner sun. For Joyce, a profound language is in operation while for Roussel, everything plays out on the surface of words and things. This article considers Roussel and Joyce together, and at the same time, questions the imaginary place and the real place, back and front, surface and depth, and the formula and place of poetic attempts which shake the scene of writing.
