“They
looked alike, but no more than others do.”
This
thought, put forth by Molloy early in his writings, tells the reader
all they need know about “Molloy.” While here Molloy is
specifically referring to two men he sees leaving town, he feels
similarly about the rest of the people he meets. He goes so far,
even, as to find these people difficult to tell from himself,
stating: “People pass by, hard to distinguish from yourself. That
is discouraging.”
This
difficulty with discernment extends into all facets of Molloy's life
and memory. It is in the son he isn't sure he had. It is in the
lovers that may or may not flit in and out of his life; morphing and
evaporating at his will.
It is the character Molloy's will, as much as anything, that drives the novel "Molloy." At the outset, Molloy claims he has no will to write, and yet he writes. He has no will to remember these events, and yet remember he does. More than that, he invents.
Whether Molloy is ever to believed or not is a matter of judgement, however, it does seem clear that his lasting impressions of people, even himself, have not been all that lasting. Each face, much like each day for Molloy, is only vaguely different from the one that preceded it. This is all true if Molloy is to be taken at his word; a word which is established to be as slippery as Beckett himself.
If we, instead, believe that Molloy is lying, we must believe that it is an ultimate lie; that the ills of the world have driven him past hate. This would mean that the novel "Molloy" would be Molloy's ultimate revenge; catapulting all that has ailed him past hate and into the dark corner of neglect.
And yet, there is one option still left unexamined.
This could all be another of Beckett's games. Molloy may simply not remember because he (like Beckett) is aware of the fragility of memory. As an average reader, it is almost too much to accept that the very nature of fiction is being undermined. However, as a vaguely initiated Beckett reader, this sort of turn may have been expected.
Whether Molloy is ever to believed or not is a matter of judgement, however, it does seem clear that his lasting impressions of people, even himself, have not been all that lasting. Each face, much like each day for Molloy, is only vaguely different from the one that preceded it. This is all true if Molloy is to be taken at his word; a word which is established to be as slippery as Beckett himself.
If we, instead, believe that Molloy is lying, we must believe that it is an ultimate lie; that the ills of the world have driven him past hate. This would mean that the novel "Molloy" would be Molloy's ultimate revenge; catapulting all that has ailed him past hate and into the dark corner of neglect.
And yet, there is one option still left unexamined.
This could all be another of Beckett's games. Molloy may simply not remember because he (like Beckett) is aware of the fragility of memory. As an average reader, it is almost too much to accept that the very nature of fiction is being undermined. However, as a vaguely initiated Beckett reader, this sort of turn may have been expected.
I wonder if Molloy's difficulty in distinguishing himself from others holds some kind of existentialist commentary? Sort of like how mundane events seem to roll on, people including the thinking individual themselves are likewise indistinguishable and almost inconsequential until death undoes them. In a similar vein, this may be why Jacques has trouble in finding Molloy, because if Molloy has such trouble pinpointing himself, how the heck will someone else be able to manage it? The man's own sense of himself is so vague that of course he's difficult to grasp.
ReplyDeleteI really enjoy your writing, Ethan. You've got a great voice throughout and I agree with what you assert. I especially like the paragraph that says, "At the outset, Molloy claims he has no will to write, and yet he writes. He has no will to remember these events, and yet remember he does. More than that, he invents." I never know what Beckett is trying to get across, but I do believe it is centered around the fragility of memory.
ReplyDelete