Something somewhat different from Beckett – though not completely different perhaps. The thing that struck me most about KLT was that, while the main character was still old, miserable and alone, he isn't sociopathically so. Or perhaps I should say that the older Krapp – the Krapp listening to tapes isn't. The younger Krapp was. Which makes me wonder if this isn't Beckett self-critiquing some of his earlier work.
What do I mean by "sociopathically"? Well, if you look at the old, miserable, alone characters in the first four short stories, it's pretty clear that they're all rather sociopathic. They want nothing to do with other people. They are generally narcissistic misanthropes.
The elder Krapp is not a narcissist – or maybe I should say he's no more a narcissist than any normal person who fits into society reasonably well. Krapp is also not a misanthrope. He doesn't despise people in general. In fact, the primary misery he struggles with is that he has spent his life working on his writing (Krapp refers to selling 16 copies of one of his books during the play) rather than committing to the woman he loved. (Of course the other irony there is that, if Krapp is happy to sell 16 copies of his book in a year, he obviously isn't particularly famous. This harmonizes well with Beckett's general disinterest in fame.)
In contrast, the younger Krapp – the Krapp who speaks on the tape – is incredibly self-absorbed, to the extent that he leaves Bianca, the woman he loves, because he isn't willing to give up some other thing he's pursuing, presumably his writing. The younger Krapp spends much of the tape talking about other events that happened in the preceding year – many of them trivial compared to Bianca. It's fairly clear he's trying to displace his focus and convince himself that Bianca was just another fling.
The elder Krapp believes he was an idiot to leave Bianca. Perhaps he came to that conclusion some time ago and is reminded of it when he pulls the tape from 30 years prior to listen before recording the tape for year 69. He wishes he could go back to then and be with Bianca again, and does so in memory.
At one level, Beckett seems to be critiquing his earlier writing. The elder Krapp calls the 39-year-old Krapp on the tape "that stupid bastard I took myself for thirty years ago." He bashes the idiocy of his youth. At the time Beckett wrote the short stories, "First Love," "The Expelled," "The Calmative," and "The End," all of which focus on self-absorbed misanthropes, possibly in reaction to his experiences during World War II – at that time, he was 39 or 40. KLT was written twelve years later and projecting eighteen years into the future (hence "A late evening in the future," perhaps?). Beckett already saw the nature of his earlier characters – and perhaps his earlier self – and uses Krapp to describe them – self-absorbed, pompous, annoying.
But perhaps there's another issue in play. Beckett had been in a long-running relationship with Suzanne Dechevaux-Dumesnil (about twenty years at the time of KLT). Three years after KLT, Beckett married her, though all accounts suggest he was more concerned with inheritance law than affection, bonding, and so forth. Since he never left her, presumably they were emotionally and psychologically married well before the ceremony, making it truly a formality. Perhaps KLT is Beckett struggling with the question of marriage. If he doesn't marry her, he is effectively leaving her (at least financially), as Krapp left Bianca. Perhaps he is struggling with the idea, something that is contrary to his philosophy and ideals.
In the end, Krapp, unlike most of Beckett's characters is at once likable, or at least pitiable. Krapp is also more concrete than many Beckett characters, for all the brevity of the text we have about him. This makes KLT a bit of an odd bird in Beckett's menagerie, but it's a good oddness.
24 October 2008
16 October 2008
LIT4934 - Workbook Entry 08 - Note
Yes, I've skipped one for now. I wrote my midterm paper on a piece of Texts for Nothing, which is the subject of Workbook Entry 8, and am having trouble rehashing it into a workbook entry.
LIT4934 - Workbook Entry 10: Film
Film is a screenplay for a silent film (surprise).
It includes several common bits of Beckettness – existence, being seen, pain and their relationship, repetitive action that would have any process engineer pulling his hair, etc. It is also avant garde, though I think it is a little less "out there" than Eh Joe – or at least I feel I could understand the basic idea of what was happening better. I don't know if that's because it is more approachable or if that is because Beckett spent almost as many pages in explanatory notes about what he was thinking or trying to accomplish as he did describing the action in the screenplay -- giving me a "director's commentary" track for this story (film?) instead of just the story (teleplay?). He also spent a bit of text here and there explaining his intended meanings were for several elements.
The world of Film is a world of pairs. Almost everyone has a companion with them. I assume this is so everyone always has someone to observe them and ensure that they exist, though maybe this is a tip of the hat toward what Michel Foucault would later describe as "panopticism" where observation is about power and controlling people -- making them adhere to the norm to avoid standing out.
The story follows two people who Beckett calls E (the eye, the observer) and O (the object, the observed). Whenever E's perspective on O reaches a certain angle, O cringes in pain and E quickly moves back into the "area of immunity". The film ends with E confronting O and we find that E and O are the same person – or at least look the same.
O seems to be an outlier in society. For example, everyone but O is going the same way on the street. I also think that Beckett is saying that only E's perception causes people pain. Whenever E observes someone their faces gradually become horrified, though their reaction is less sudden and dramatic than O's reaction.
So who is E that he alone causes people pain upon observation? Dunno. If only O were affected by him, I'd suggest that Beckett is talking about the discomfort and difficulty of self-inspection. But E's observation of others causes them pain too, so E is clearly different from all the other observers. Maybe he sees with a keener insight. Maybe he's giving them a vulture look instead of just looking casually. Maybe he's giving them with a creepy stare. If he is O and O is an outlier, E is also an outlier. Maybe they are the man who walks to the beat of a different drummer and causes society problems or makes people confront things they don't want to see. Maybe they are Beckett -- or at least Beckett as he saw himself.
I don't know. Beckett's commentary makes it clear that the story is about the pain of perceivedness. We know that Beckett tied this idea into Berkeley's concept that being seen made one exist. This means the pain of perceivedness is also the pain of existence. I think the repetitive action (when O evicts the dog and cat from the room) is probably a joke of sorts. Beckett routinely injects absurd humor to defuse a serious situation. He also describes the sequence as a "foolish suggestion" for how to handle the process. He does note that animals aren't affected by E's observation, though, so apparently only sentient beings are subject to the pain of existence.
Again, while not as off the wall as Eh Joe, Film is still a bit off the wall. (I mean, for Pete's sake, Film! What kind of title is that?) Or perhaps, better said, it's a philosophical piece more than a pure literary piece. Beckett is once again telling his story of the existential horror of existence and expressing his philosophy of life, the universe and everything – that 42 is probably just as good an answer as any other and existence is misery.
It includes several common bits of Beckettness – existence, being seen, pain and their relationship, repetitive action that would have any process engineer pulling his hair, etc. It is also avant garde, though I think it is a little less "out there" than Eh Joe – or at least I feel I could understand the basic idea of what was happening better. I don't know if that's because it is more approachable or if that is because Beckett spent almost as many pages in explanatory notes about what he was thinking or trying to accomplish as he did describing the action in the screenplay -- giving me a "director's commentary" track for this story (film?) instead of just the story (teleplay?). He also spent a bit of text here and there explaining his intended meanings were for several elements.
The world of Film is a world of pairs. Almost everyone has a companion with them. I assume this is so everyone always has someone to observe them and ensure that they exist, though maybe this is a tip of the hat toward what Michel Foucault would later describe as "panopticism" where observation is about power and controlling people -- making them adhere to the norm to avoid standing out.
The story follows two people who Beckett calls E (the eye, the observer) and O (the object, the observed). Whenever E's perspective on O reaches a certain angle, O cringes in pain and E quickly moves back into the "area of immunity". The film ends with E confronting O and we find that E and O are the same person – or at least look the same.
O seems to be an outlier in society. For example, everyone but O is going the same way on the street. I also think that Beckett is saying that only E's perception causes people pain. Whenever E observes someone their faces gradually become horrified, though their reaction is less sudden and dramatic than O's reaction.
So who is E that he alone causes people pain upon observation? Dunno. If only O were affected by him, I'd suggest that Beckett is talking about the discomfort and difficulty of self-inspection. But E's observation of others causes them pain too, so E is clearly different from all the other observers. Maybe he sees with a keener insight. Maybe he's giving them a vulture look instead of just looking casually. Maybe he's giving them with a creepy stare. If he is O and O is an outlier, E is also an outlier. Maybe they are the man who walks to the beat of a different drummer and causes society problems or makes people confront things they don't want to see. Maybe they are Beckett -- or at least Beckett as he saw himself.
I don't know. Beckett's commentary makes it clear that the story is about the pain of perceivedness. We know that Beckett tied this idea into Berkeley's concept that being seen made one exist. This means the pain of perceivedness is also the pain of existence. I think the repetitive action (when O evicts the dog and cat from the room) is probably a joke of sorts. Beckett routinely injects absurd humor to defuse a serious situation. He also describes the sequence as a "foolish suggestion" for how to handle the process. He does note that animals aren't affected by E's observation, though, so apparently only sentient beings are subject to the pain of existence.
Again, while not as off the wall as Eh Joe, Film is still a bit off the wall. (I mean, for Pete's sake, Film! What kind of title is that?) Or perhaps, better said, it's a philosophical piece more than a pure literary piece. Beckett is once again telling his story of the existential horror of existence and expressing his philosophy of life, the universe and everything – that 42 is probably just as good an answer as any other and existence is misery.
LIT4934 - Workbook Entry 09: Eh Joe
Eh Joe? What was that Joe? I didn't get that Joe.
With Eh Joe, we've moved from the merely "modernist" strangeness of the first stories and plays to something more avant garde – perhaps a little too avant for my garde.
This text is a teleplay. The majority of the visuals involve a slowly closing closeup of a 50-something man (Joe) sitting on a bed. The audio is a woman's voice speaking -- to the man? a voice in his head? Don't know, Joe. The script makes it clear he's alone. That much I can make out.
But what's going on? Is anything going on? (I'm sure the latter question would amuse Beckett.)
The voice might be a voice of wandering memory. Meanwhile, there are a few points that are clear and echo Beckettian notions – an implied relationship between being seen and existing, between existence and pain, between life and death and the general annoying insistence of a physical body.
The only action I can make out is near the end, a "scene" (I use that term loosely) in which a woman commits suicide. Using a common Beckett motif, it takes her several tries to get it right. (There were similar motifs in Endgame and Waiting for Godot among others.) The text indicates that the woman and Joe knew each other, perhaps were lovers. There are some subtle suggestions that Joe wasn't the nicest guy when dealing with her (recommending a particular razor for her body hair, for example).
It seems this woman was one of many Joe has known, but was perhaps the woman he loved best – or at least came closest to loving. The whole issue of love and what it means to love someone comes up again as it has in other Beckett texts including Endgame and "First Love" and remains equally unresolved.
I also gather that the woman speaking (again, presumably in Joe's head) was not the woman who committed suicide because the voice says, "I found a better," and "But there was one didn't… You know the one I mean, Joe…"before describing the suicide girl. Which makes me wonder who the voice we hear (presumably in Joe's head, but maybe a voice he doesn't hear at all) is that isn't with him now and isn't the woman he loved (if he loved) best but is still talking about him, maybe even to him in his head.
We don't know why the woman who committed suicide actually committed suicide either. We don't know how it really affects Joe. We don't know a lot… Eh Joe? And on the whole, I don't understand a lot of Eh Joe.
But maybe that's Beckett's whole point.
With Eh Joe, we've moved from the merely "modernist" strangeness of the first stories and plays to something more avant garde – perhaps a little too avant for my garde.
This text is a teleplay. The majority of the visuals involve a slowly closing closeup of a 50-something man (Joe) sitting on a bed. The audio is a woman's voice speaking -- to the man? a voice in his head? Don't know, Joe. The script makes it clear he's alone. That much I can make out.
But what's going on? Is anything going on? (I'm sure the latter question would amuse Beckett.)
The voice might be a voice of wandering memory. Meanwhile, there are a few points that are clear and echo Beckettian notions – an implied relationship between being seen and existing, between existence and pain, between life and death and the general annoying insistence of a physical body.
The only action I can make out is near the end, a "scene" (I use that term loosely) in which a woman commits suicide. Using a common Beckett motif, it takes her several tries to get it right. (There were similar motifs in Endgame and Waiting for Godot among others.) The text indicates that the woman and Joe knew each other, perhaps were lovers. There are some subtle suggestions that Joe wasn't the nicest guy when dealing with her (recommending a particular razor for her body hair, for example).
It seems this woman was one of many Joe has known, but was perhaps the woman he loved best – or at least came closest to loving. The whole issue of love and what it means to love someone comes up again as it has in other Beckett texts including Endgame and "First Love" and remains equally unresolved.
I also gather that the woman speaking (again, presumably in Joe's head) was not the woman who committed suicide because the voice says, "I found a better," and "But there was one didn't… You know the one I mean, Joe…"before describing the suicide girl. Which makes me wonder who the voice we hear (presumably in Joe's head, but maybe a voice he doesn't hear at all) is that isn't with him now and isn't the woman he loved (if he loved) best but is still talking about him, maybe even to him in his head.
We don't know why the woman who committed suicide actually committed suicide either. We don't know how it really affects Joe. We don't know a lot… Eh Joe? And on the whole, I don't understand a lot of Eh Joe.
But maybe that's Beckett's whole point.
13 October 2008
LIT4934 - Workbook Entry 07: Happy Days
This Happy Days has nothing to do with Henry Winkler or Ron Howard. Nope, this is Samuel Beckett in full Samuel Beckett style. Rather than go through the long list identifying all the things this play shares in common with Beckett's other works, I'm going to continue my effort to get beyond all Beckett's baggage and find something different, or at least something that maybe isn't so obvious.
Winnie is a wife suffering from depression and denial and maybe a little bit of self hate. Given that perspective, we can also reinterpret some of the symbols in the play.
So why do I say Winnie is a depressed wife in denial? Let's start with page 31, where Winnie talks about "something something laughing wild amid severest woe." This is a quote from Thomas Gray's "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College" from a list of things that try men including, "moody Madness laughing wild amid severest woe." Sounds like depression and denial to me.
Immediately after she asks Willy (the presumed husband, and God knows what else he would be to still be with her in the miserable state in which they live), "Was I loveable once?" Winnie believes she is not (and perhaps never was) lovable, meaning she is unloved (even by herself). If that isn't obvious enough, consider a few lines further where she says, "I am not asking you if you loved me, we know all about that, I am asking you if you found me lovable." She has given up on Willie loving her. She believes he stays with her out of force of habit, or because it is "the right thing to do" or some other such thing. We're not sure what she's looking for from him, but she apparently isn't getting what she considers to be love from him. If that isn't enough to make a wife depressed, what is?
On page 34, after another attempt to find something to shore up her self esteem and failing, she says, "Forgive me, Willie, sorrow keeps breaking in. Ah well, what a joy in any case to know you are there..." She says, in effect, "I'm horrifically sad… but I'll keep telling myself I'm happy because you're there," even though she's already admitted that she doesn't think he loves her. Maybe she's happy because he is staying with her and she is making him as miserable (she believes) as she is.
Another indication of Winnie's outlook is on page 41 where she refers to the people who stopped to look at her speculating that they were married, then saying, "no – they are holding hands – his fiancée more likely – or just some – loved one." Winnie is suggesting that, if they had been married, they wouldn't have been holding hands, would have abandoned the intimacy and love that unmarried couples share.
In a very Beckettian statement, Winnie says on page 42, "Ah well, I supposed it's only natural. Human. What is one to do?" Now, we might suppose that this is Winnie referring to Willie's indelicate action in the preceding lines, but given the stage direction "Break in voice" in the midst of this statement, this is more likely to be a commentary on something bigger. Winnie is saying that there is nothing to be done about being human. Humanity drags one down. To use a line from Beckett's Endgame, "We're on earth – there's no cure for that."
Winnie addresses her problem in the same the way many depressed housewives addressed their problem in the 1960s. On page 13-14, Winnie pulls out a medicine bottle and reads that it is for "loss of spirits" among other things and offers, "instantaneous improvement". She proceeds to drink the remaining contents of the almost empty bottle. The immediate response, "Ah that's better!" Ironically, the medicine is red. The term "reds" is 1960s drug slang for depressants.
So, Winnie is depressed. She's also in denial. Throughout the play she is trying to pretend she's happy as evidenced in some of the quotes above – telling herself she's happy because Willie is there, for example. She forces smiles. She constantly tells herself it will be a "happy day" even though she is far from happy. This is clear denial.
Let's use this thinking to look at some of the symbolism in the play. Willie spends most of the play behind the mound and seems, if not unresponsive to Winnie, certainly distracted by other things. One example, a postcard that Winnie finds scandalous (page 19). Perhaps Willie is using pornography in place of his wife. This also offers a different possible vision of Willie's offensive behavior on page 42. It's also probably worth noting that his name is a common British slang term for a penis, further suggesting his particular distraction. The mound that first encases Winnie to her chest and finally to her neck is an image of the depression slowly eating her. Eventually, she'll be completely buried, unable to breathe. The bell that tells her when to wake and sleep and Winnie's mechanical behavior suggest the ways a depressed person may force themselves to appear functional for as long as they can, mechanically making their way through the day, killing time until they can go to sleep when they can at least not be aware of how miserable they feel.
Thus we have Winnie, depressed 1960s wife, denying her depression and putting on a brave face as the steadily growing heap of misery consumes her.
Of course, this phenomenon isn't restricted to the 1960s. Today we have Prozac (and cousins) in place of older antidepressants, a wider acceptance of depression as a psychological condition instead of "crazy", and so forth, but it seems safe to say that Winnie still roams the wilderness of the world, probably many more Winnie's than many people suspect.
Winnie is a wife suffering from depression and denial and maybe a little bit of self hate. Given that perspective, we can also reinterpret some of the symbols in the play.
So why do I say Winnie is a depressed wife in denial? Let's start with page 31, where Winnie talks about "something something laughing wild amid severest woe." This is a quote from Thomas Gray's "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College" from a list of things that try men including, "moody Madness laughing wild amid severest woe." Sounds like depression and denial to me.
Immediately after she asks Willy (the presumed husband, and God knows what else he would be to still be with her in the miserable state in which they live), "Was I loveable once?" Winnie believes she is not (and perhaps never was) lovable, meaning she is unloved (even by herself). If that isn't obvious enough, consider a few lines further where she says, "I am not asking you if you loved me, we know all about that, I am asking you if you found me lovable." She has given up on Willie loving her. She believes he stays with her out of force of habit, or because it is "the right thing to do" or some other such thing. We're not sure what she's looking for from him, but she apparently isn't getting what she considers to be love from him. If that isn't enough to make a wife depressed, what is?
On page 34, after another attempt to find something to shore up her self esteem and failing, she says, "Forgive me, Willie, sorrow keeps breaking in. Ah well, what a joy in any case to know you are there..." She says, in effect, "I'm horrifically sad… but I'll keep telling myself I'm happy because you're there," even though she's already admitted that she doesn't think he loves her. Maybe she's happy because he is staying with her and she is making him as miserable (she believes) as she is.
Another indication of Winnie's outlook is on page 41 where she refers to the people who stopped to look at her speculating that they were married, then saying, "no – they are holding hands – his fiancée more likely – or just some – loved one." Winnie is suggesting that, if they had been married, they wouldn't have been holding hands, would have abandoned the intimacy and love that unmarried couples share.
In a very Beckettian statement, Winnie says on page 42, "Ah well, I supposed it's only natural. Human. What is one to do?" Now, we might suppose that this is Winnie referring to Willie's indelicate action in the preceding lines, but given the stage direction "Break in voice" in the midst of this statement, this is more likely to be a commentary on something bigger. Winnie is saying that there is nothing to be done about being human. Humanity drags one down. To use a line from Beckett's Endgame, "We're on earth – there's no cure for that."
Winnie addresses her problem in the same the way many depressed housewives addressed their problem in the 1960s. On page 13-14, Winnie pulls out a medicine bottle and reads that it is for "loss of spirits" among other things and offers, "instantaneous improvement". She proceeds to drink the remaining contents of the almost empty bottle. The immediate response, "Ah that's better!" Ironically, the medicine is red. The term "reds" is 1960s drug slang for depressants.
So, Winnie is depressed. She's also in denial. Throughout the play she is trying to pretend she's happy as evidenced in some of the quotes above – telling herself she's happy because Willie is there, for example. She forces smiles. She constantly tells herself it will be a "happy day" even though she is far from happy. This is clear denial.
Let's use this thinking to look at some of the symbolism in the play. Willie spends most of the play behind the mound and seems, if not unresponsive to Winnie, certainly distracted by other things. One example, a postcard that Winnie finds scandalous (page 19). Perhaps Willie is using pornography in place of his wife. This also offers a different possible vision of Willie's offensive behavior on page 42. It's also probably worth noting that his name is a common British slang term for a penis, further suggesting his particular distraction. The mound that first encases Winnie to her chest and finally to her neck is an image of the depression slowly eating her. Eventually, she'll be completely buried, unable to breathe. The bell that tells her when to wake and sleep and Winnie's mechanical behavior suggest the ways a depressed person may force themselves to appear functional for as long as they can, mechanically making their way through the day, killing time until they can go to sleep when they can at least not be aware of how miserable they feel.
Thus we have Winnie, depressed 1960s wife, denying her depression and putting on a brave face as the steadily growing heap of misery consumes her.
Of course, this phenomenon isn't restricted to the 1960s. Today we have Prozac (and cousins) in place of older antidepressants, a wider acceptance of depression as a psychological condition instead of "crazy", and so forth, but it seems safe to say that Winnie still roams the wilderness of the world, probably many more Winnie's than many people suspect.
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