The Beautiful People by Robert Fenhagen is a very short (I would say concise) story that is not at all interested in beautiful people. Nor is it an essay about beauty, nor about what beauty can mean to different (beautiful) people, seen (and perceived) from different (possibly beautiful) angles. Rather, it is a minimalist piece of absurdist literature that is as much about beautiful people as Eugène Ionesco's The Bald Sopranos is about bald sopranos. To tell the truth, beautiful people and bald sopranos (and their equally juxtaposable positions) are only pretexts for the installation of the absurd in a literature which is only absurd to the extent that its absurdity does not become a absurdity in itself. And the essential difference between the absurdity of a piece of absurd literature and the absurdity to which it may fall prey, by all accounts, is the optimal measure of absurdity by which one is to know the appropriate length of a literary text which approaches the absurd. the absurd itself. What then is the best length for a literary text to become a literature of the absurd? Is there such a textual limit at which the absurd can penetrate literature and make its presence known in the form of the literature of the absurd? The answer itself may seem simply absurd. However, the answer is neither absurd nor possible. The answer goes beyond the absurdity of the situation that made it plausible in the first place. In fact, the answer is completely unknown to the asker, except for a few historical clues which alone cannot constitute a fully articulated answer. These clues are mere literary insinuations which should not be taken into consideration unless the applicant is prepared to do so. with them as if they were what was in the middle of a sheet of paper. Absurdism, which says almost absurdly that the shorter and more concise a text is, the less likely it is to be absurd, is no law at all. Because how can it be so, and how can he conform to it, when his Beautiful People, which are entirely absent from their supposed presence in the title, are living proof that the absurdity of literature of the absurd stands the test of time and, above all, immeasurable? After all, wouldn't evaluating the absurd lead to the very absurdity to which the absurdity of all absurd literature strives not to fall prey? Obviously, Robert Fenhagen would not (could not) disagree with his own writings. By its very nature, the absurd is as limitless as the gaze of the hawk measuring the limitlessness of the process of enumerating all the things lying between the two (equally absurd) extremities of the birth of its food and under its classic prey form..