Wednesday, July 09, 2014

In the beginning …

… Samuel Beckett, the Early Years | Boston Review.

… Echo’s Bones …  “plot,” is simple yet convoluted. Belacqua comes back to life, or awakens to realize that he was never exactly dead, perched on a fence smoking Romeo y Julieta cigars. He converses, in the desultory, mock-learned fashion of Irish folklore, with bizarre creatures such as the huge living-yet-impotent Lord Gall of Wormwood, who incites the dead-yet-fecund Belacqua to impregnate his wife. Belacqua also holds a rambling conversation with a flirtatious prostitute named Zabarovna Privet, to whom he remarks, in typical gnomic style, “Alas, Gnaeni, the pranic bleb, is far from being a mandrake. His leprechaun lets him out about this time every Sunday.” With appropriate finality, he meets Doyle, the groundskeeper and gravedigger who appeared anonymously in “Draff,” the final story in Pricks.

2 comments:

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  2. Frank, I must tell you a brief Samuel Beckett story: When I was finishing my BA as a drama major, my senior thesis project included directing a production of Waiting for Godot. Full of youthful innocence and chutzpah, I wrote a letter to Mr. Beckett, inviting him to the performance. Believe it or not, he answered my invitation by sending a wonderful, handwritten note. He graciously said he could not attend our production but wished us well. That note, of course, became a treasured keepsake -- until a few years later when failed relationship prompted the offended women to destroy my keepsake. Sad . . . sad . . . sad . . . Now, years later, I think there must be some strange ironic connection between Waiting for Godot, the beautiful note from the author, and the vicious fury of an ill-tempered woman -- almost as if it had been scripted by Beckett; perhaps if I live long enough, I will fathom that irony. The letter is gone. The memory lives forever. Thank you, Mr. Beckett

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