Translator's prefaces, as we all know, are written to be ignored – a sad but inevitable fate. All the more so for a preface to a text such as the present volume, whose exposition, structure and argument are veritable models of clarity and distinction, those twin standards of philosophy that Descartes famously upheld as the golden metric for philosophic concepts. Elsewhere Professor Kokubun has mused that he feels more like a Cartesian than a Spinozist in disposition (scandalous for a Deleuzian!); it is for you, the reader, to judge the accuracy of this self-assessment.

This, however, puts the translator in an awkward position. For any lack of clarity and distinction that has dared to creep into the ensuing pages will necessarily be of my own doing (rather like the housekeeper who will with every justification be held responsible for a theft while he or she is cleaning the house). In particular I must insert a short obituary for my favourite word in the English language, ‘verily’, which appeared approximately 500 times in the first draft of the translation. These were erased (to my utmost chagrin) in toto after both our long-suffering editors and two anonymous reviewers raised more eyebrows than I can count. In retrospect, for the best: Kokubun's emphases are always merited and immaculately limelighted, and the locusts of ‘verily’ (swarming straight out of the Old Testament) would only have occluded it.

Now it is one thing to be in possession of great philosophic acuity and originality, quite another to have a sense for philosophical pedagogy (one might be forgiven for assuming these were in inverse proportion, if not for occasional exceptions like Kokubun). The latter, at the very least, requires a very precise identification of what is difficult to latch onto in one's own thinking, a skill precious as diamond. This must be one reason why Kokubun's explication of Deleuzian practical philosophy as pedagogy and apprenticeship (in Chapter 3 of the present volume) is, as you will soon see, so successful.