Texts for Nothing: Why is Life Enough?

"There's my life, why not, it is one, if you like, if you must, I don't say no, this evening. There has to be one, it seems, once there is speech, no need of a story, a story is not compulsory, just a life, that's the mistake I made, one of the mistakes, to have wanted a story for myself, whereas life alone is enough."


This has been a very difficult Beckett passage for me to wrestle with.  He has created a number of things here that he deems certitudes.  First, if there are words, there must be life.  This is a fascinating assertion but, undeniably, must be true.  It also calls to mind, though it never states directly, the idea that words provide us with life.  That they give life to us as humans in a way that other things can't.  We see this in a number of Beckett plays.  "Happy Days" is the first that pops in my head as Winnie's infrequent conversations with Willie are one of the driving forces behind her continued optimism and will to exist.

Second, life does not require a story.  This, more than the first idea appears to be a reflection by Beckett on his works as a whole, where story often takes a back seat to the words themselves.  He allows for the possibility that having a story is acceptable, but asserts that it is in no way necessary.  For Beckett, stories became less and less essential to his works as they gave way to simple, but essential, consciousness.  Pure human thought.  Stripped of outside influence and of moral dilemma or implication.  It is a strange and often uncomfortable place to inhabit.  Obviously, that is a main reason Beckett's readership is so specific.  And yet, what a worthwhile venture it is to journey into such uncharted waters as these.

What Where Who How?: A Question of "it"

"Give him the works."

Finding "it."  Yet where has "it" gone?  The part of Beckett's "What Where" that interests me more than any other is the treatment of people by other people.  The interrogations.  I am stuck and fascinated by Beckett's very literal representation of humanity's thirst for "more."  For something not known but desired.  "It."

The presumption by Bam that others know "it"(which we must assume is some sort of secret knowledge, or really any knowledge not possessed by the speaker) very much mimics the incorrect assumption made by most people that there are others who have life's riddle figured out.
But, like Beckett himself, it is a mystery.  A mystery made even more mysterious and alluring by the fact that there is no such thing as an easy answer.  There is no resolution.  Only torture and questions and longing.  The play offers no answers, but always eloquently states the questions.

Because I couldn't resist.

Still, the fact that the characters of "What Where" have not surrendered to I-Don't-Knows is something significant.  They are not resigned to their fates, but always searching for life's answers.  It is this search which makes the whole thing, though painful, worthwhile.

Great Mercies.... I think.

       “Great mercies, great mercies.”

       And yet, mercy from what? This is the question we must ask ourselves after having read or watched Beckett's “Happy Days.” Winnie, unlike almost all other Beckett characters, focuses almost entirely on the positives of her situation. For most, being stuck waist-deep in a mound of sand with nothing around but a purse of random items and a crawling bald man would be considered more a curse than a blessing. But Winnie perseveres, convinced her life is a blessing compared to... compared to what?

        Examination of this point leads us to a place that Beckett often likes to go in his writing; a place he imposes on readers in nearly every work. Winnie is convinced of her “great mercies” because each of them represents a distraction from her ever having to face herself and the gravity of her situation. As long as the distractions last, she is free from the burden of her own life.

        She even finds a way to free herself from the added weight of her own thoughts. This, she accomplishes through the sluggish and stoically miserly Willie, to whom she directs her avalanche of babble throughout the play. Willie represents any human interaction for our protagonist, but Winnie abuses human interaction by using her own voice to drown out her thoughts. This is an idea that Beckett examines in Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable. “I cannot go on. You must go on. I'll go on.” The speech cannot end, lest the thinking begin.  

Krapp, Beckett, Krapp.

         My first thoughts after reading Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape and watching John Hurt's stunning performance of the piece were not of Krapp, but rather of another Beckett character: Molloy. Molloy and Krapp were by no means “the exact same character” or any other silly universal Beckett argument. Instead, one appears to be a type of reflection of the other.

I was pleasantly surprised, then, to learn that Beckett had written Krapp's Last Tape as a response to hearing Molloy read by Patric Maggee; a segment of which we heard in class after reading Molloy ourselves.

         In this situation, the writer Beckett plays the elderly Krapp, listening to the foolish younger man–still Beckett–and reacting.

          Beckett and Krapp are much closer than any previous Beckett characters that we have read. Krapp is not wholly doomed in the same way that other characters have been. He has moments of happiness, however fleeting. (“Spooooooolllllllll.”) The same must be true for Beckett who, however damaged, cannot have been wholly lost to his bouts of depression.

          Somehow, with Krapp, Beckett finds a way to make us as readers even more suspicious about the possibility that the protagonist of the piece is actually Beckett himself struggling with the great and terrible questions of life.

Waiting for God, Oh: Shitting on Allegory, Symbolism and Meaning Making

"Samuel Beckett's high-octane thriller "Waiting for Godot" is now an action-packed, explosions-galore video game! Behold the multiplayer! Behold the heart-stomping action! Behold the waiting!" (vector belly)

It took me a long time to digest Waiting for Godot.  I read it--enjoyed it well enough the first time through--but found myself at the end of the play completely confused.  To the point that I had a hard time even asking any vaguely constructive questions about it.  I sat confused for two days.  How could Beckett continue to have this effect on me?

I should have known better.  

So I went back through.  Ditched the dialogue.  Payed attention to stage direction, body position, items that are worn and not worn.  In other words, I gave up trying to understand each little thought and convention.  I surrendered much of my need to make meaning through language.

Obviously, a lot of the idea behind doing this came from what Dr. Betsalel had to say about Beckett when he came to class, though with a small tweak in giving up some of the symbolism.

Things came much easier.

When you cut through some of the proverbial shit, it is easier to gain your first hold on what is happening.  Beckett's dramas differ in this way from his fiction.  In the fiction, there is no way of knowing what physical activity is actually happening due to the unstable voice of the narrators.  This is not so much the case in later fiction like Company, but is more a part of the early trilogy of Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnamable.

This is something to hang on to, whether the movements of the characters are real or imagined.  This is something to be trusted. Maybe. It is a break from the constant mental ticking of the characters.

So try it some time.  I definitely don't think that's the only way to digest the play, and I am absolutely sure I will enjoy it from a different angle in the near future.

In the meantime.

Tralatralay Pom Pom–Again!

DISCLAIMER: Any views of The Unnameable that are presented in the following blog have likely been contradicted, retracted or otherwise changed at some point in the novel. Please find it in your hearts to accept that the writer of this blog is not responsible for the devious nature of The Unnameable.



The Unnameable longs for company. If only to break through the monotony of his own life. In one of the cases presented in the novel, he imagines seeing a face–if only just a face–breaking through the tedium of his infinite staring.  This was not the way the Unnameable's visitation from Malone transpired. It is possible--as always with the Unnameable--that Malone was every bit as invented as the face he longs to see in the moment we are examining. However, whether that is the case or not is not as important as the Unnameable feels he has no control over Malone and isn't even completely sure that it is Malone at all. With a face that he at the very least believes he has invented, he must set parameters. The visitor may only stay for five minutes–coincidentally, “just the necessary time for hope to be born, languish and die.” These rules fall right in line with the contradictory nature of The Unnameable.

That which he creates must only exist long enough to fill him with hope and be vanquished from existence. This is a sentiment that may be shared by Beckett himself.


“Fortunately it's all a dream.”
This line follows the invention of a face appearing before the Unnameable. It's not a lie, but it is an understatement. This and everything that the reader is able to grab hold of is simply a dream. The things which bring comfort to the Unnameable are dreams; figments. Or not. But if he believes them to be so-given the capability of the mind to hold sway over setting in this world-then that is all they function as to him whether that is what they actually are or not.

The Unnameable remains trapped in endless time. His life goes on and on and on even after the novel comes to a close. And so, many of these apparition, like the ones in Beckett's Company, are simply "devised for company."

As fun as the figments are to fill one's time with, "unfortunately, we must stick to the facts." That's a joke. Thanks Beckett.

Where's Waldo? Also, Malone.

Through all the beautiful, sad, empowering talk from Malone as he ruminates on death, I find myself wondering who, exactly, Malone is.  Maybe that's not important.  I don't know.  Perhaps I shall learn.

It is easy to believe, if you tell yourself so, that Malone is simply Molloy from the preceding novel.  This seems to make sense, given that both find themselves in drab rooms, waiting for--and welcoming--their own deaths while in some way chronicling the summation of their lives.

However, it seems odd that Beckett would choose to write two parts of a trilogy about the same character doing, essentially, the same thing.  It is possible, but let us assume it is not firmly so.

In fact, let us save time and assume that nothing is firmly so.  This assumption must be extended to the characters, ideas, and the narrator himself.  Beckett appears to explain this concept himself in Malone Dies when he states: "The forms are many in which the unchanging seeks release from its formlessness."  What then, if one of the forms that the unchanging has chosen for its formlessness is Malone himself?  It seems entirely possible.  This means that Malone could have been anyone; could still be anyone.


Let us explore our options.

Our Malone shows none of the mustachioed bravery and bullet-defying conviction of Burt Reynolds' Richard Malone, a man for whom death appears impossible.

Nor does he seek anything with quite the ferocity that basketball legend Karl Malone sought an NBA championship late in his career; seemingly knowing that the attainment of just one thing would satisfy him for life.

Our Malone certainly resembles the latter more closely than the former, as neither ever attain the thing which they thought would bring meaning to their lives.  However, with out Malone, he never goes so far as to even identify such a thing.  Accepting instead that the thing may be nothingness itself.

And so, we return to nothing, as so often we do with Beckett.  No legends of over-acting or failed professional athletes to console us.  Only the bitter dark and cold of reality to remind us we are alive.  Only our own formation of nothingness to inform us.

I think, though, if there is one thing that can be agreed upon in Malone Dies, it is that our Malone is not famed rapper Glasses Malone.

Just call it a hunch.