In 1994, Emily Eakin, then a graduate student in English and comparative literature at Columbia University, made the decision to abandon her doctorate. Her choice was motivated not only by the oversaturation of literature PhD candidates competing for limited academic positions but also by growing disillusionment with “theory,” an intellectual movement that originated in France during the 1960s. In her recent book, *The Frenchmen*, Eakin, now an editor at the New York Times, reflects on her complex relationship with this movement, which profoundly influenced the humanities in American universities and became a focal point in the early cultural conflicts often referred to as the “culture wars.”

Eakin traces the roots of theory to the structuralist revolution in the human sciences. Structuralists displaced Jean-Paul Sartre’s existentialist conception of a self capable of agency with the notion of an impersonal system and elevated language as the overarching framework shaping meaning. Drawing on the ideas of Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure, they argued that language is a system where meaning arises from the relationships between words rather than from inherent definitions.

The debates surrounding theory intensified during the 1980s, extending beyond academic circles. Conservative philosopher Allan Bloom’s 1987 bestseller *The Closing of the American Mind* criticized what he saw as the deleterious impact of obscure European-derived jargon on American education. Such critiques have continued to influence political right observers of higher education. Nevertheless, for many students like Eakin, engaging with the deconstruction of Western metaphysics was intellectually stimulating, despite only partial familiarity with the broader philosophical canon.

Eakin explores why she ultimately regarded theory as a “dangerous substance” to be rejected, situating her experience within what critic Nicholas Dames has termed the “Theory Generation,” a cohort whose college years were often depicted in the realist novel form that theory sought to interrogate and destabilize. In parallel, Eakin and scholar Onur Erdur attempt to humanize prominent theorists by uncovering the personal and historical contexts behind their ideas. A notable example is Jacques Derrida, who was raised Jewish in French Algeria and expelled under Vichy France’s anti-Jewish quotas during World War II—an experience he said caused a lasting “disorder of identity.”

Among Eakin’s “Frenchmen” are key figures such as Derrida, Michel Foucault, Gilles Deleuze, Jacques Lacan, Louis Althusser, Félix Guattari, Roland Barthes, and Paul de Man. While de Man was a Belgian émigré to the United States, his close friendship with Derrida was crucial in shaping the story of French theory’s American transplantation. By the mid-1970s, this intellectual current had established footholds at Yale—where Derrida was invited through de Man’s support—and at Berkeley, where Foucault engaged with the local gay community.

Eakin argues that Derrida and Foucault came to represent divergent trajectories within American theory: Derrida’s work emphasized rhetorical analysis, paradox, and meticulous textual reading, whereas Foucault focused on power dynamics and social discourse, imparting a borrowed sense of political rebellion reminiscent of the 1968 Paris uprisings. However, this political dimension often functioned more as symbolic posturing than as effective activism.

Criticism of theory escalated when revelations surfaced in 1987 about de Man’s prior writings for a collaborationist Belgian newspaper during the Nazi occupation, some pieces of which were explicitly antisemitic. De Man’s literary allies, including Derrida, grappled with this controversy, which critics leveraged to validate claims about the nihilistic or corrosive nature of deconstructive theory. These developments coincided with the rise of a conservative political climate in the United States, intensifying attacks on the movement.

Despite these challenges, Eakin resists outright dismissal of theory. She concludes that, notwithstanding its political shortcomings and controversies, the legacy of French theory—and the vigilance it promotes in questioning language and meaning—may not be as contrary to the public good as its detractors suggest. Instead, it offers enduring tools for critical inquiry and self-reflection within the humanities.