The tri-dimensional aspect of Critchley's latest book as announced in the title, Tragedy, the Greeks, and Us, proves somewhat overshadowed by the strong dichotomy opposing tragedy and philosophy that dominates the study, or more precisely, “tragedy's philosophy” as set against “philosophy's tragedy” (9). Toggling back and forth rather freely between using the word “tragedy” to refer to the genre of Attic tragedies and referring to an idea of the tragic as “a dialectical modality of negation” (82), Critchley questions the terms of the distinction between tragedy and philosophy, a distinction he will develop and problematize throughout the book. Critchley confronts us with the age-old conundrum of art criticism: How can rational analysis account for sensory experience? Organized into six parts, Tragedy, the Greeks, and Us begins with the tension between philosophy and tragedy, then delves into the invention and particularities of tragedy, before exploring somewhat similar parallels between philosophy and sophistry. Parts IV and V are devoted to Plato's Republic and Aristotle's Poetics, respectively, followed by a brief conclusion. All along the way, we are provided with frequent references to a bulk of scholarly research related to tragedy and philosophy as well as near-constant references to the ancient Greek tragedies themselves, with a distinct preference for the genre-bending art of Euripides.

Before beginning however, Critchley puts the reader on guard by exposing the impossibility of the task he is undertaking. Far from the first to have a go at this impossible enterprise, he takes us on a partial recap throughout Part I of philosophy's previous attempts, transporting us back to the origins of the debate in ancient Greece. From the very get-go, tragedy was considered to be at odds with classical philosophy's basic pursuits. While both are intensely engaged with the question of “What shall I do?”— as Critchley puts it—philosophy seeks theoretical solutions in the form of universal or divine mandates whereas tragedy plunges all possible solutions into “a world defined by ambiguity, where right always seems to be on both sides” (5). Yet this is no simple dichotomy, as the word theoria, or theory, comes from the Greek word for spectator, theoros, intimately linking theatrical experience with critical thinking from the bare beginning.