“And
I should be sorry to give a wrong idea of my health which, if it was not
exactly rude, to the extent of my bursting with it, was at bottom of an
incredible robustness. For otherwise how could I have reached the enormous age
I have reached. Thanks to moral qualities? Hygienic habits? Fresh air?
Starvation? Lack of sleep? Solitude? Persecution? The long silent screams
(dangerous to scream)? The daily longing for the earth to swallow me up? Come
come. Fate is rancorous, but not to that extent.”
I
thanked Elberry for his contribution and he replied:
“i
feel that if you read enough Beckett, every day, you could probably cite some
sterling & gruesome passage for every occasion and it would seem eerily
relevant. Beckett contains all occasions and persons."
For
a writer often misunderstood as a nihilist, Beckett is remarkably wise, amusing and
consoling. He’s eloquent, memorable and quotable.
His best work constitutes an eccentric species of wisdom literature. Seasoned
readers have assembled an advisory council of such writers – Montaigne,
Shakespeare, the King James Bible, and the other Sam, Johnson. Of the last,
consider this passage from his review of Soame Jenyns’ A Free Enquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil:
“Many
of the books which now crowd the world, may be justly suspected to be written
for the sake of some invisible order of beings, for surely they are of no use
to any of the corporeal inhabitants of the world. Of the productions of the
last bounteous year, how many can be said to serve any purpose of use or
pleasure! The only end of writing is to enable the readers better to enjoy
life, or better to endure it; and how will either of those be put more in our
power, by him who tells us, that we are puppets, of which some creature, not
much wiser than ourselves, manages the wires!”
Beckett
meets both of Johnson’s criteria for writing – enjoyment and endurance
(especially as enjoyment encourages endurance, and vice versa) -- Elberry probably would
concur:
“i'd
forgotten how funny Molloy is. i
remembered it, from 2007, as difficult but occasionally humorous. i must have
adjusted to it, as it now seems joyously easy and almost permanently amusing.
Compared to the sequels, it is pretty light reading.”
Read
the sentences following the passage Elberry passed along:
“Look
at Mammy. What rid me of her, in the end? I sometimes wonder. Perhaps they
buried her alive, it wouldn’t surprise me. Ah the old bitch, a nice dose she
gave me, she and her lousy unconquerable genes. Bristling with boils ever since
I was a brat, a fat lot of good that ever did me. The heart beats, and what a beat.
That my ureters – no, not a word on that subject.”
1 comment:
The older I get, the funnier Beckett gets.
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