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ibidem Press, Stuttgart
For my grandfather,
William Haydn Jones (“Pappy”),
for encouraging me to apply to university.
First and foremost, I would like to thank Neil Badmington for his advice, encouragement and friendship throughout the project. His feedback and fine espressos were the fuel that ensured a steady progression. · I owe a debt of thanks to the following for their support during various stages of the project: Iain Bailey, Elizabeth Barry, Jonathan Boulter, Peter Boxall, Mary Bryden, Mark S. Byron, Julie Campbell, Arka Chattopadhyay, Rick Cluchey, Paul Crosthwaite, Raymond Federman, Matthew Feldman, Peter Fifield, Stanley Gontarski, Dan Gunn, Julia Jordan, David Houston Jones, Seán Kennedy, James Knowlson, James Martell, Ulrika Maude, Laurent Milesi, Irene Morra, Becky Munford, Mark Nixon, Anthony Paraskeva, Bryan Radley, Jean-Michel Rabaté, Laura Salisbury, David Tucker, Dirk Van Hulle, Shane Weller, and Adam Winstanley. · I would also like to thank Series Editor Paul Stewart for his diligence and support during crucial stages, and to Valerie Lange of Ibidem Press for her help and guidance throughout the publication process · I am grateful to the Arts and Humanities Research Council, for their financial support during the principal research of this study · I would like to acknowledge the patient and helpful staff of Cardiff University’s Arts and Social Studies Library. · A big thank you to the supportive community of postgraduate researchers based at the School of English, Communication and Philosophy. · Thank you to John Minihan for kindly providing a photograph for the front cover · A big thank you to my family, Hazel, Brian, and Robert Tranter, and to my in-laws Leslie and Don Whitney, for their generosity, understanding, and support at various points throughout the project· And finally, my largest debt of gratitude goes to Jennifer Dawn Whitney, a tireless listener and scrupulous crrritic who has been a constant source of guidance and inspiration. Needless to say, all errors are my own.
Some sections of the material in this book have appeared in earlier versions in the following publications: ‘“without solution of continuity”: Beckett’s That Time and Trauma Memoir’, Samuel Beckett Today / Aujourd ‘hui, Vol.27 (2015), 115-128; and ‘Late Stage: Trauma, Time and Subjectivity in Samuel Beckett’s Footfalls’ in Samuel Beckett & The Encounter of Philosophy and Literature, ed. Arka Chattopadhyay and James Martell (London: Roman Books, 2013) (ISBN: 9380905513), 118-135.
Rhys Tranter
Cardiff, South Wales
August 2017
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
Foreword
Introduction
Travails
Methodologies
After Auschwitz
Selecting the Texts
Chapter Outline
1. Prose: Coming and Going
Preamble
Traumatic Progress
Walking as Thinking
Watt and Traumatic Temporality
Walking as Traumatic Symptom
Blurring National Boundaries
Going Nowhere
Coming and Going
Fort-Da
Coming and Going
Writing ‘About’ Trauma
Language and Dis-Orientation
The Wandering ‘I’
2. Theatre: Late Stage
Late Words
Beginning to End
Lateness
Stage Presence
Not I
Acting Out
Coming to Terms
That Time
Time, Trauma and the Self
Never the Same After That
Three Voices
Footfalls
Not Quite There
Shades
Pas
Imagining Later
3. Radio: The Voice Breaks
Haunted Media
Radio
Spectral Radio
Wireless Subjects
Embers
Diminishing in Tone
Trauma and the Subject
Unspeakably Excruciating
(Character) Studies of Trauma
Spectrality
Traumatic Modernity
Trauma, Modernity, Radio
The Birth of Modern Trauma
The Mechanism Jams
Conclusion: As the Story Was Told
As the Story was Told
When now?
Bibliography
General Bibliography
Online Resources
Film
Samuel Beckett in Company
Copyright
Abbreviations
AST ‘As the Story Was Told’ in Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose, 1950-1976, ed. Mark Nixon (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
AF All That Fall in All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
Cas Cascando in All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
CR ‘The Capital of the Ruins’ in As No Other Dare Fail: For Samuel Beckett on his 80th Birthday by his friends and admirers (London: John Calder, 1986),
E Embers in All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
F Footfalls in Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Short Plays, ed. S. E. Gontarski (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
FN The Expelled, The Calmative, The End with First Love, ed. Christopher Ricks (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
FAW From an Abandoned Work in Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose, 1950-1976, ed. Mark Nixon (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
K Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Short Plays, ed. S. E. Gontarski (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
LO The Lost Ones in Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose, 1950-1976, ed. Mark Nixon (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
N Not I in Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Shorter Plays, ed. S. E. Gontarski (London: Faber and Faber, 2009), 88.
M Murphy, ed. J. C. C. Mays (London: Faber and Faber, 2009).
MC Mercier and Camier, ed. Seán Kennedy (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
Mo Molloy, ed. Shane Weller (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
MPTK More Pricks Than Kicks, ed. Cassandra Nelson (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
TN Texts for Nothing in Texts for Nothing and Other Shorter Prose, 1950-1976, ed. Mark Nixon (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
TOT The Old Tune in All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
TT That Time in Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Shorter Plays, ed. S. E. Gontarski (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
U Samuel Beckett, The Unnamable, ed. Steven Connor (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
W Watt, ed. C. J. Ackerley (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
WFG Waiting for Godot, ed. Mary Bryden (London: Faber and Faber, 2010)
WW What Where in Krapp’s Last Tape and Other Shorter Plays, ed. S. E. Gontarski (London: Faber and Faber, 2009)
DF James Knowlson, Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett (London: Bloomsbury, 1996).
Foreword
what is the word
What follows is speculation, often far-fetched speculation, which the reader will consider or dismiss according to his individual predilection.
Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle1
In the Spring of 2017, I was fortunate enough to direct a production of Footfalls. My cast were both highly experienced, but were performing Beckett for the first time. From the first read-through, two persistent questions arose: What is wrong with May? and What has happened to her? These questions arose repeatedly during the question and answer sessions with the audiences after each performance. These are possibly inevitable questions from both the actors’ and audience’s perspectives. For the former, the best practice of creating a credible character in a theatrical context might seem to demand some form of knowledge of the character’s history and, hence, her motivation; or, if not knowledge, then at least some form of working hypothesis. For the latter, the desire to diagnose May’s condition is, of course, a desire to know what has been witnessed. The audience knows what it has seen and heard—a woman pacing, responding to an off-stage voice, and then creating a narrative ‘sequel’—and yet seeing and hearing are not felt to be enough and the desire to know what has been witnessed leads to a diagnostic drive. If only, the thought goes, we could come to understand what is wrong with her. If only, we were told what the ‘it all’ is that May keeps revolving in her poor mind.
This diagnostic drive is not to be condemned (after all, much academic work has sought to do the same thing for May, or Mouth, for example) but perhaps should be seen as an inevitable consequence of Beckett’s work. That he was alive to such possibilities is evident long before he turned to the stage. Indeed, Watt could be seen as demonstrating, and possibly undermining, just such a diagnostic drive. When the Galls come to tune the piano, Watt cannot say ‘Yes, I remember, that is what happened then’ (W, 61), leaving the incident of the Galls as one of an interplay of its formal facets alone: ‘a mere example of light commenting bodies, and stillness motion, and silence sound, and comment comment’ (W, 60). Watt has not ‘executed an interpretation since the age of fourteen, or fifteen,’ so he find this need to know beyond the ‘face values’ deeply upsetting, as many an audience member faced with a late Beckett play might also feel. Indeed, ‘light commenting bodies, and stillness motion, and silence sound’ might serve as a fair description of Beckett’s later work for the theatre in which such formal features fail to provide access to a deeper understanding that an audience might expect and seek. This is not to say that Beckett’s theatre fails to provide such an understanding; rather it invites the attempt to know, to diagnose, and thus focuses the audience’s attention on the processes of bearing witness, endlessly.
The plight of Watt trying to come to terms with the Galls, father and son, is but one of example in the novel of what Arsene describes as ‘the unutterable, the ineffable’ that demands failing attempts to utter it, to eff it (W, 52). ‘To eff’ is of course a non-existent word, despite the fact that it should, logically, be available within the language, as the word’s journey from Latin to English has retained the negative form whilst disposing of the positive, effabilis. It seems as if Beckett makes an appeal within the logic of language to that which is not available within that language. In so doing, Beckett can not describe but only circumscribe a site of emergence. According to this logic, only a successful identification and description of the ineffable would arrest the economy of emergence. This is once again a facet of the diagnostic drive that audience and actors so often feel when encountering Beckett’s work, and upon which the academic community might be said to depend.
In the present work, Rhys Tranter has circumscribed this area of emergence as that of trauma. By definition, Tranter suggests, trauma is precisely that which cannot be identified as such in Beckett’s work: it is always, as it were, off stage or unsaid. If one were to identify the trauma, it could then be successfully ‘disposed of,’ as Freud put it. For Freud, coming to terms—and the word is loaded—is a question of mastery. The traumatized patient repeatedly suffers because there ‘is no longer any possibility of preventing the mental apparatus from being flooded with large amounts of stimulus, and another problem arises instead—the problem of mastering the amounts of stimulus which have broken in and of binding them, in the psychical sense, so that they can be disposed of.’ (Beyond the Pleasure Principle, 30) The therapeutic project would be to ensure just this mastery through the identification of the traumatic episode itself. If we transpose Freud’s description into the field of literary criticism, and in particular Beckett criticism, then immediately a number of concerns become apparent. Firstly, there is a danger that we as critics wish to assume a mastery over texts that repeatedly disavow such mastery. Secondly, the act of ‘binding’ these texts—thereby giving them a coherence around a single focal point or related points—begs the question whether they can then be disposed of, thus silencing both those texts and future critical works. This means that care needs to be taken with whatever critical tools we bring to bear on the works, be it archival, historical or more philosophical and speculative; a care that recognises that we as critics are part of the same economy of emergence and repetition as the texts themselves.
Throughout this book, Tranter stresses that the status of ‘late,’ with all its connotations and complications, should be borne in mind. There might seem to be no more ‘late’ text than what is the word, the final written work, which, according to Van Hulle, was to be Beckett’s last word no matter if another were to follow:
On the first page of the manuscript of what is the word, [Beckett] added in the top margin ‘Keep! for end’, indicating that no matter how much longer he might live and whatever he might still write, the final word had to be this acknowledgement that he could not find the word. (C, xvi)
So, the last word was to be what is the word no matter if it was in fact the last word and, if van Hulle is correct, it was to be delayed in order for it to be the last word. Fittingly, the English translation appeared in print once Beckett was himself ‘late’ as it only appeared posthumously. Perhaps no less fittingly, there is some doubt about what what is the word is; poem or prose? Van Hulle includes it in his Faber edited collection of late prose. Lawlor and Pilling also include it in The Collected Poems of Samuel Beckett. Calder, who was the first to print the piece within a book, included it as prose in the volume As the Story was Told2, although he describes it as Beckett’s last ‘literary utterance’ to avoid the issue of genre (10). (As an aside, in both van Hulle’s collection and The Collected Poems, what is the word is not given the position of the last word at all, as both volumes provide further texts as appendices.)
Whatever its generic status, what is the word exhibits the same ambiguous relation to the diagnostic drive as the incident of Watt and the Galls. Although not written as a question, the title seems to create a series of hesitant responses that approach the word that lies ineffably out of reach. The responses undergo a process of weakening as verbs are lessened in their force or hedged about with caveats. So, ‘see’ becomes ‘glimpse’ which is in turn is weakened into ‘seem to glimpse’ and then further into ‘need to seem to glimpse’. Similarly, the identification of a site ‘there’ is weakened to the point where it becomes ‘afaint afar away over there’(C, 134). As the words pile up, the object of their search recedes still further away, yet those words have been generated precisely in this need to search for the word at last. Even if we posit that ‘what’ is the word that was searched for all along (thus making ‘what is the word’ a statement rather than reading it as a question) the answer would only beg a series of further questions: what does what signify? A condition of ‘whatness’ perhaps? And what might that mean?
One aspect in what is the word that does not suffer this process of lessening is the word ‘folly’. From the outset, ‘folly’ predicates all the various attempts towards naming the word, so, by the end, the text reads:
folly for to need to seem to glimpse afaint afar away over there what –
what –
what is the word—
what is the word
(C, 134-5)
Folly might not be the word, but it is no less a crucial one. Awareness of one’s own foolishness in searching does not stop one searching; after all, we ‘need to seem to glimpse’ what is just ‘over there.’ But such an awareness mitigates against any notion of mastery as we are engaging in an inevitable yet mistaken enterprise from the very beginning. Instead of mastery, there are the steady accretions of language and those accretions might give us access to not folly, but, from the Old French, folie or ‘delight’.
Paul Stewart
November 2017
1 Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, Vol. XVIII, trans. James Strachey et. al. (London: Vintage, 2001)
2 As The Story was Told: Uncollected and Late Prose (London: Calder, 1990)
Introduction
Travails
Trauma is one of the key concepts underscoring the writing and reception of Samuel Beckett’s work. This book sets out to re-read Beckett’s post-war writing as a response to, and theorisation of, traumatic experience, with a particular focus on writing and representation. Biographical readings have taken account of the role mourning has played in the writer’s prose, poetry and drama. Broader historical interpretations trace allusions to the atrocities of twentieth-century cultural memory. Intertextual research has also identified latent traumatic content via the many literary, religious and philosophical texts woven into the works. The influence of trauma is difficult to overstate in relation to Beckett’s texts, although it typically adopts an aesthetic of understatement, allusion, and ellipses. The status of trauma in Beckett’s writing appears to resist concrete or meaningful understandings. Its appearances are, by definition, peripheral and fragmentary, making it difficult to place at the centre of a research project or a sustained critical assessment. This is because, paradoxically, trauma is never fully present in Beckett’s texts, nor is it totally absent: it remains elusive, troubling the borderlines between what exists and what does not. This study will ask how cultural and historical trauma can serve to illuminate the limitations and indeed possibilities of language and representation, and how the belated deferral of written signifiers, performed rehearsals, and electronic broadcasts ask us to rethink notions of presence and agency. To put it another way, trauma manifests as the ill seen and ill said of Beckett’s oeuvre: a concept that challenges the possibilities of witnessing and recording, and, as a result, prompts a revaluation of what we mean by truth, history, and identity.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!