![]() I was in an amateur production of Waiting for Godot playing Vladimir, and I always teared up at this part: It can be a tough read but it's very rewarding. All three are great and the thrid is the ultimate expression of everything I've talked about in this post. If you haven't yet, pick up the trilogy: Molloy, Malone Dies, and The Unnamable. His works make you ponder your very existence but the end up being strangely life affirming. The questioning and "reasoning" often wander far off course in hilarious ways. On a less childish level (as if there is anything wrong with childish humor), The musings of Beckett's characters are often strangely funny in ways that you can't really pin down. In the middle of some philosophical musing you'll be hit with some first rate toilet humor that, due to the context, ends up far funnier than it probably should be. His humor offer punches through the darkness as well at unexpected times in unexpected ways. Just a random line from the last book of his I read but just look at it. Who might that be? The galley-man, bound for the Pillars of Hercules, who drops his sweep under cover of night and crawls between the thwarts, towards the rising sun, unseen by the guard, praying for storm?" The most recent example I can think of is: I can't count the number of times I've gone back and read a page numerous times just for the beauty found within the words themselves. What are I doing? Why am I here? What am I waiting for? Who the fuck am I?īetter yet, Beckett accomplishes all of this with the most beautiful of prose. His works shake us to the core and force us to confront the most basic of problems. ![]() In spite of this lack of a definitive interpretation, Beckett manages to strike at the very essence of human existence. His plays and books can be interpreted many different ways, depending on your state of mind. The wonderful thing about Beckett is his ambiguity.
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