The Tony [Award] show was so long that at the end Godot finally arrived.
Beckett's novel Murphy, completed in 1936, the first work in which this chronically self-doubting author seems to have taken genuine if transient creative pride (before long, however, he would be dismissing it as "a very dull work, painstaking, creditable & dull"), draws on his experience of the London therapeutic milieu and on his reading in the psychoanalytic literature of the day. Its hero is a young Irishman who, exploring spiritual techniques of withdrawal from the world, achieves his goal when he inadvertently kills himself.
One naturally seizes on such statements — and on all evidence of stasis, itinerancy, nausea, angoisse, etc. — because they are so utterly Beckettian. But our understanding of this adjective is radically enlarged by the evidence, in this correspondence, of other qualities.
Despite the comic patter consistent throughout the play, this expression of despair for the irremediable suffering of mankind clings to the characters like the fog one imagines inhabits the world outside their decaying cocoon.
This ability to tear into what he dislikes but not let it blind him to what is admirable in a work or artist would remain typical of Beckett.
My Darlings, Colm Toibin on Beckett’s Irish Actors, London Review of Books, April 5, 2007
No comments:
Post a Comment