"Boil the beast” she said, “what else?”
“But it's not dead” protested Belacqua “you can't boil it like that.”
She looked at him in astonishment. Had he taken leave of
his senses?
“Have sense” she said sharply, “lobsters are always
boiled alive. They must be.” She caught up the lobster and laid it on its back.
It trembled. “They feel nothing” she said.
In the depths of the sea it had crept into the cruel pot.
For hours, in the midst of its enemies, it had breathed secretly. It had
survived the Frenchwoman's cat and his witless clutch. Now it was going alive
into scalding water. It had to. Take into the air my quiet breath.
Belacqua looked at the old parchment of her face, grey in
the dim kitchen.
“You make a fuss” she said angrily “and upset me and then
lash into it for your dinner.”
She lifted the lobster clear of the table. It had about
thirty seconds to live.
Well, thought Belacqua, it's a quick death, God help us
all.
It is not."
Who's the author of this work? Why is he significant? How did he become so?
"Samuel Barclay Beckett (13 April 1906 – 22 December 1989) was an Irish avant-garde novelist, playwright, theatre director, and poet, who lived in Paris for most of his adult life and wrote in both English and French. His work offers a bleak, tragicomic outlook on human nature, often coupled with black comedy and gallows humour.
Beckett is widely regarded as among the most influential writers of the 20th century.[2] Strongly influenced by James Joyce, he is considered one of the last modernists. As an inspiration to many later writers, he is also sometimes considered one of the first postmodernists. He is one of the key writers in what Martin Esslin called the "Theatre of the Absurd". His work became increasingly minimalist in his later career.
Beckett was awarded the 1969 Nobel Prize in Literature "for his writing, which—in new forms for the novel and drama—in the destitution of modern man acquires its elevation".[3] He was elected Saoi of Aosdána in 1984." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Beckett)
He was born on Good Friday, when Jesus left Earth. He only missed the birth of Jesus by dying two days earlier. Drawing on the fact that he employed religious items in his works, it would have been a great irony on his part to get the timing right. What a bummer.
What do we know about his literary style and/or approach?
"Beckett's
writing can be roughly divided into three periods - his early works up
until 1945; his middle period from 1945 until the early 1960s, during
which he wrote his best known works and his late period from the early
1960s until his death in 1989 during which his style became more
minimalist. His early works were greatly influenced by James Joyce,
critics comment on their erudite nature appearing to overly display the
writer's knowledge resulting in some obscurity. Beckett began writing in
French during this period, he stated that writing in a language that
was not his first tongue taught him discipline in economy of language
and contributed to a sparsemess of style. In 1945, Beckett returned to
Dublin for a brief visit, during his visit he had a revelation in which
his entire future literary direction appeared to him, he documented this
in his 1958 play Krapp's Last Tape. He returned to Paris and
began his most prolific period as a writer, this was when he entered the
second period of his writing. He turned definitively to the French
language during his middle period and his work began to develop it's
unique style moving some critics to claim Beckett as one of the
forefathers of post-modernism. During his late period, Beckett whittled
down the content of his work to the essential elements, works written
during this period include Not I, Eh Joe, Play and Breath.
Beckett's work more than any other broke form the realist tradition,
dispensing with conventional plot, space and time and focussed on the
essential elements of the human condition."
Food in Beckett's famous works are relatively limited. There are two instances for it in waiting for Godot: "They cling to each other on an almost bare stage where the only sign of
life is a skinny tree, and number of rocks; the only food they have is
a dried up carrot. One tells the other that they must wait for Godot,
despite the fact that they don't know who he is, or what he wants. And
so they wait.", "Lucky carries a basket of food and a bottle of
wine, neither of which is shared with the two tramps, who are starving." (http://www.nytheatre-wire.com/mc09052t.htm)
Now imagine the cooking of the lobster in the beginning in the style of Beckett's Endgame:
Simple kitchen interior.
Light emanating from the oven's light.
Left and right
back, down low, two small burners, turned off, kitchen equipment.
Front right, a
door. Hanging near door, its face to wall, a picture about fruits organized into a still-life.
Front left,
touching each other, covered with an old sheet, two ashbins.One used for collecting recycles, the other is a simple bin.
Motionless by the door, his eyes fixed on the lobster, Beck's. Very red face.
Brief tableau.
Beck's goes and
stands next to burner left. Stiff, staggering walk. He looks down at burner left.
He turns and looks at burner right. He goes and stands next to burner right. He
looks at burner right. He turns and looks at burner left. He goes out, comes
back immediately with a small box of matches, carries it over and puts it down
on the table next to burner left, gets one out and lights it. He moves on, takes six
steps (for example) towards burner right, goes back for the matches, carries them over
and puts it down on the shelf close to burner right, draws a match out, and lights burner right. Then takes some steps backwards and looks at the burners. Then goes to burner left, adjusts the level. Then goes to burner right and turns it a bit down. Burners are now even.
He goes to door, halts, turns towards auditorium.
BECK'S (fixed
gaze, tonelessly):
Finished, it's finished, nearly finished, it must be nearly finished.
(Pause.)
Heat upon heat, marker by marker, and one day, suddenly, the burners are even. If they can ever be even. I wonder.
(Pause.)
I can't be punished any more.
(Pause.)
I'll go now to fetch the lobster, one feet by one feet by half a feet, perfect size. I will just have to wait till it dies.
(Pause.)
Nice dimensions, nice proportions, I'll put it on the table, and look at the clock ticking, and wait for it to die.
(Pause.)
Aunt said something about boiling 'em alive. That would be just cruel. Anyway, what's the point of eating lobsters?
(Pause.)
I will just fetch a sandwich. He promised you the cooking of a lobster. I'll eat a sandwich. In a play anything can happen.
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