And Then What: Random Thoughts on Samuel Beckett

Fig. 1: Photograph of Samuel Beckett by Roger Pic (1977)  

Fig. 2: Arthur Atkinson as Hogg in Beckett's one-act play And Then What 

 (BBC Television 1972)

 

 

When it comes to the Irish writer Samuel Beckett - last of the great modernists, etc., etc. - the strange thing is that whilst I'm fully on board with his absurdist philosophy and think him a hugely attractive figure and daring as an artist - one possessed of the courage to both wander and squander - I've never been a fan of his work and often wonder why that's so.

 

Similarly, I've never been a fan either of Beckett's one-time mentor James Joyce (whose daughter, Lucia, Beckett may or may not have fucked) [1].

 

Perhaps, like Joyce, Beckett is just a bit too intellectual and experimental for my tastes; too rooted in psychoanalysis and avant-gardism. One is almost tempted to say of Beckett what D. H. Lawrence wrote of Joyce; "too terribly would-be and done-on-purpose, utterly without spontaneity or real life" [2]. 

 

Almost, but not quite and it's possible that Lawrence would have found more to admire in Beckett than he did in Joyce [3]. 

 

At any rate, I certainly prefer Beckett to Joyce - as evidenced by the fact that there are several posts published on Torpedo the Ark that refer positively to Beckett's work: click here, for example, to access the post from 2013 on Beckett's idea of failure in Worstwood Ho (1983); or here, to read the post on Beckett's short story 'Dante and the Lobster' (1934). 

 

Finally, I've just recently read Beckett's one-act play Krapp's Last Tape (1958), which, again, I very much like as an idea, but didn't much care for as a short drama. 

 

However, I did love Beckett's little known play entitled 'And Then What', which was filmed by the BBC in 1972, starring the legendary music hall performer and comic actor Arthur Atkinson in the role of Hog - 'a lonely, bitter, pinched, wizened git' - a role written especially for him by Beckett, a lifelong fan of Atkinson's, as he was of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and other vaudeville clowns.    

 

A short clip can be viewed on YouTube by clicking here [4].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Beckett was introduced to Joyce in Paris in the late 1920s and the meeting had a profound influence on the younger man. Afterwards, he served as a research assistant for Joyce, who was then working on Finnegans Wake (1939) and Beckett's first published work (1929) was an essay defending his master from accusations of wilful obscurity. 

      Meanwhile, he was also (allegedly) involved with Joyce's daughter, Lucia. However, after making it clear to her that he really wasn't interested in a serious romance - not least because he was seeing another woman at the time and she was already showing signs of mental illness - his relationship with the girl's father also cooled somewhat, though they remained close and when, in 1936, Beckett was almost fatally stabbed in the chest, it was Joyce who paid his hospital bills and made regular visits. 

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Harry Crosby (6 September 1928), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. VI, ed. James T. Boulton and Margaret H. Boulton, with Gerald M. Lacy (Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 548.

      The (non-)relationship between Lawrence and Joyce is fascinating. Although very much aware of one another in the 1920s, the two men never met and each disparaged and dismissed one another's work. Readers who are interested in knowing more might like to see the essay by Earl Ingersoll entitled 'D. H. Lawrence and James Joyce: The Odd Couple of Literary Modernism', in The D.H. Lawrence Review, Vol. 38, No. 2 (2013), pp. 1-20. It can be accessed on JSTOR: click here. 

 

[3] Not that Beckett was overly enthusiastic about Lawrence's writing. Having read the latter's short novel St Mawr (1925), Beckett wrote in his journal: 'Some lovely things as usual and plenty of rubbish'. As Lawrence died in March 1930, he had no opportunity to read any of Beckett's work. 

 

[4] For those who might otherwise be confused, please note that this is a clip from The Fast Show (S3/E8), dir. Mark Mylod and first broadcast on BBC Two (29 December 1997). It features Simon Day as Tommy Cockles and Paul Whitehouse as Arthur Atkinson.

 

 

For more random thoughts on Beckett - in relation to fashion, bravery, and overcoming the spirit of revenge - please click here. 

Gone Fishing

Recreational cruelty: Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse 

proudly showing off a catch on their popular TV show, 

Gone Fishing, as the poor carp struggles to breathe 

 

 

All of a sudden, there seem to be a shoal of programmes on TV that involve the gentle art of fly fishing, with even elderly comedians Mortimer and Whitehouse getting in on the act [1]. 

 

Only it's not such a gentle art - certainly not for the fish, who is subject to the violence of being hooked, reeled in, and manhandled. Despite recent research indicating that these beautiful and intelligent creatures experience fear and react to pain in similar ways to birds and mammals [2], there are still anglers who dispute or deny the cruelty involved in their recreational pursuit [3].  

 

We don't keep the fish out of the water for long and always put them back unharmed, is the familiar line of argument. But this ignores the trauma that the fish suffers and overlooks the fact that the hook used to catch them often causes damage to the mouth, thus making it difficult (and painful) for the fish to feed after their release.

 

Of course, Nietzsche would point out that just because something causes suffering that's no reason not to do it; i.e., the fact that pain hurts is not an argument [4]. Further, there might even be wisdom to be found in pain (as in pleasure); fish, for example, might have learnt something from the experience of being caught over the centuries by anglers which has ultimately helped them survive as a species. 

 

But surely fish experience enough danger in their daily life under the water to keep them on their guard, without human beings adding to their fear, stress, and suffering. Nietzsche makes a good case for the non-alleviation of natural hardship and danger, but that doesn't mean we should go out of our way to increase or intensify the pain felt by other animals.  

 

Otherwise, we must say yes to badger-baiting, fox hunting, and bullfighting as well as what Byron described as the cruellest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretend sports - fishing [5].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] To watch episodes of Mortimer and Whitehouse: Gone Fishing go to BBC Online: click here. 

      The series has received widespread praise for its warmth, charm, and gentle humour. Many critics even find it poignant as the two comics reflect on their own mortality (both men having recently undergone heart surgery). No one, as far as I can see, stops to give a thought to the fish whose participation in the show, whilst central, is non-consensual and one might ask if the real joy of the show is listening to two old friends reminisce about the good old days, whilst contemplating the beauty and tranquility of their surroundings, then why do they need to also catch fish for our entertainment.   

[2] Whether fish experience pain in the same way that we do is a contentious issue (especially amongst those who subscribe to some form of human exceptionalism). But it seems fairly obvious, both from observation and from knowing what we do about their brains and nervous system, that they certainly don't like having sharp metal hooks pierce their mouths and being hauled out of the water into an environment in which they cannot breathe (and which can cause their gills to collapse).   

 

[3] It's worth remembering that fishing litter left behind by careless anglers also presents a danger to other forms of wildlife, including birds and small mammals.  

 

[4] See Nietzsche, The Gay Science, IV. 318. 

[5] For the record, I'm not - unlike members of PETA - arguing for fishing to be outlawed. But I do think people should be actively encouraged to treat fish with care and respect, even if - as D. H. Lawrence says - we may never know their gods. I develop this idea in a post published last year on the intelligence of fish: click here. 

 

Thanks to David Brock for inspiring this post.