Review: Beckett: A Reluctant Sitter

Author(s): David Hayman

Review by: David Hayman
Source: The Georgia Review, Vol. 33, No. 1, Focus on the Imagination (Spring 1979), pp. 221-227
Published by: Board of Regents of the University System of Georgia by and on Behalf of the
University of Georgia and the Georgia Review
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BOOK

REVIEWS

221

ratherthanimitation,may be the sincerestform

don. In thiscase, footnoting,
of flattery.
One thingis clear: given the widespread popularityof America!s Humor,morewill- and should-be written.In fact,theremay even come a time
when such work can skip the obligatory"apologies." And yet, that combinationof scholarlyintelligenceand a congenialspiritwhich produced books
like Franklin J. Meine's Tall Tales of Southwest (1930) or Constance
Rourke's AmericanHumor ( 1931) or Walter Blair's Native AmericanHumor (1937) will stillseem rare and precious. As a literaryhistory,at once
overview and synthesis,America's Humor belongs to that distinguished
company.

David

Hayman

Beckett:

Reluctant

Sitter

Samuel Becketthas become almostthe emblemof the writerin retreat,

makingwithdrawalthe dominantfeatureof textswhich have progressively
obliteratedthemselves.Being a privateperson,he has raisedisolationto new
heightsas a value. Inevitably,as in the case of Howard Hughes, the assertion
amountof curiosityand interestin
of privacyhas elicitedan ever-increasing
the life and backgroundof the man who has generatedtextswhich to so
many of us seem as deeply personalas they are personallymoving.It is perhaps also inevitablethat a biographyhas been writtenwhich airs the secrets
of the recluse and that that biographyhas attractedan unusual amount of
public interest.
Like Joyce before him, but with less interestedmotives (for Joyce
needed and soughtpublicityfor his demandingworks), Beckett has triedto
forestall"biografiends."He has acceded to the requestsof Lawrence Harvey
for backgroundinformationneeded to explain his early writings,provided
bibliographicaldetailsfor Federman and Fletcher'sannotatedbibliography,
. As might
and helped Ludovic Janvierto assemblehis Beckettpar lui-mme
not
for
be expected, he has (privately) praised Janvier
publishingall he
* An
of
essay-review
BraceJovanoSamuelBeckett:A Biography.
By DeirdreBair.New York:Harcourt
vich,1978.xiv,736pp.$19.95.

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222

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REVIEW

knew, an action surelyworthy of respect.On the other hand, he has conrefusedto giveinterviewsor to makepublic appearances,has avoided
sistently
all sortsof publicityand mixedwith the world only on his own terms.This
is amply documentedby the book underconsideration,as is the pain caused
Beckettby untowardpublicity.
One mightthinkthat these proceduresand that anguishwould at the
very least protecthim until afterhis death. But thanksto the indefatigable
DeirdreBair,we now have beforeus a bulkybiographyloaded with answers
to all the questionswe didn't dare ask and some we never even thoughtof.
No matterhow we may regardthe invasionof privacy (one mightcall it
investigativereportage) or ratherthe abuse of good will suggestedby Ms.
Bair's procedures(by now so well publicizedthattheyneed not be recapituto our knowllated), we mustagree thatthisbook contributessignificantly
edge of the man and even illuminatessome aspectsof his work. It is usually
wise to discountby fiftypercentbiographers'claims as purveyorsof light
to purblind critics,but certainlyBeckett's agonizing relationshipwith a
powerfulmother,togetherwith the psychosomaticillnessesand the psychoanalysisthatwere its classic side effects,throwinto sharp reliefcertainparticularlydarkcornersof hisminorprose.They also affectour readingof the
Beckettcanon and will probablystimulatemore people to read furtherand
deeper.
If thisis hardlythe flawlesswork announcedby the criticscited on the
dust jacket, we must rememberthat the author makes no claims to being
definitive.(One of my colleaguescalls thisbook "materialsfora biography.")
Given the reticenceof her subject, who apparentlygrantedher few interviews and was at no pains to supplementthe informationsuppliedby those
of his friendsand relationswillingto cooperate,we may wonder that there
are so few obvious lacunae and so littlepadding. On the other hand, much
credit must be shared with Beckett,whose lettersto Thomas
McGreevy
enliventhe core of the book, especiallythe treatmentof the troubled
prefameyearsand Beckett'sreactionsto the encroachmentof fame.
McGreevy
was a man to whom Beckettfeltattuned,and Ms. Bair had access to the entire correspondenceof over three hundredletterswhich she
freelyquotes
and frequently
paraphrases.In many cases, these splendid lettersparallel
Beckett'screativewritings,for he transfers
passagesfromtheminto his fiction and drama,fromthe briefestimage and scantiest
phraseto whole paragraphs.Reading theseextractsand knowinghow Beckettmanagesto include
memorableand characteristicutterancesin even the briefestcard, one can't
help lookingforwardto the day when theseletterswill be availablein their
entirety.
What, we may ask rhetorically,does one expect? What can one expect
froma literarybiographytoday? How does this effortmeasure to such
up
expectations?A biographyshould obviouslygive us freshinformationand
insightson and into the subject's background,youth, education,contacts,
and development.It should also set the work withinthe contextof the life,
illuminatetheirinteraction.Ideally, as Joyce put it, a biographicalportrait

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BOOK

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223

should describethe life in termsof "the curve of an emotion,"giving the

reader a keen sense of the vitalitybehind the works without freezingthe
subject or undercuttingconsistencyof character.A literarybiographyneed
not be dull,but it should not be sensational,journalistic,or trendy.It should
neitherdiminishnor magnifyitssubject.On the whole Bair does well, though
we may faultherfor occasional slipsinto sensationalism
and for certainjournalistictics. Her Beckett is neithergiant,nor dwarf. He is vulnerable,humane, gentle,agonizing,demanding,ironic, generous,withdrawn: he is a
multiple,protean but remarkablypowerful individual. The events of his
lifefade into thebackgroundin the presenceof a strikingand sustainedpresence. In short,the Beckett of this portraittends to confirmthe Beckett of
of
the creativework. I refer,of course, not so much to the interpretations
one can make as a carefulcriticalreadthatwork by Bair as to theassessments
rethathave been made evenby criticswhom Bair consistently
er,assessments
readers
derive
the
it
is
clear
that
More
than
ever,
jects.
powerfulimpression
is generatedby powerfulimpulsesin Beckett'slife. It does not follow that
we as critics and readers really need to know the precise sources of this
power, but stillit is nice to have specificdetailsrelated to biographicalinformationwhich would otherwiseremainprivileged.
To returnto our list of requirements,a biographyshould be accurate
in its detailsand carefulin its judgments.Here, as we shall see, Bair's book
short.
fallssomewhat,if not catastrophically,
Beckett readers have hithertohad only the barest outline of his backgroundand next to nothingabout his family.What we now have is a spectacular and disturbingaccount that has already made more than one critic
nervous.Bair gives us a profileof an Irish Protestanthousehold with an
ebullientfatherwho encouragedhis sons to develop theirbodies and a rather
starchymotherwith whom an "incompletelyborn" Becketthad a painfully
prolongedlove-haterelationship.The otherwisehealthyand athleticyoung
man was subject to neuroticbouts and psychosomaticmaladiesthatBair believesto have stemmedfromthatrelationship.In the early thirtieshe underwent psychoanalytictreatmentwith only moderatesuccess. (It was probably at thistimethathe acquired the knowledgeof Freud and Jungreflected
in the novels.) Through it all he remaineda remarkablygood if distantand
recalcitrantson. Were it not for the extremereactions,one mightsay that
all of thisis normaland thatany one of us mighthave lived the same lifewith
minorvariations.Such equationscome too easilyand perhapslead us too far,
but giventhe intensityof Beckett'sexperience,a suggestiveparallelbetween
Kafka springsto mind. The
a mother-riddenBeckett and a father-ridden
not
visions
has
between theirworks and
escaped criticalnotice,and
affinity
we may also note certainparallelcharactertraits.
Bair chroniclesin great detail the familialbonds that,even in his exile,
Becketthas maintainedthroughoutthe years-bonds thatmay findtheircorrelativesin certainaspectsof his plays and novels.There is, for example,his
prolongedattachmentfor his bohemiancousin Peggy Sinclair,who figures
as the Smeraldinain More Pricks Than Kicks. And thereis his uncle Jim,a

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224

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man who lost his legs, his sight,and the use of his arms to diabetesbut retained his wit and cheerfuldispositiontill he died. Beckett was so attached
to thisuncle that (though the tripis not mentionedby Bair), he claims he
traveledto Dublin for his funeral.Perhapshe was also fascinatedby the terrible way life has of imitatingart. Of equal interest,because equally fresh,
is the account of how he spentthe war years,the modestywith which he
downplayedhis heroism,and the consistencyof his motivesin behavingas
he did. In fact, consistencyin and throughcomplexityruns like a thread
throughoutthis portrait.Beckett has been utterlyconsistentout of a profound need to be true to himself.This is evidentalso in the account of his
relationshipwith his wife Suzanne,which began afterthe writerwas senselesslyknifedby a pimpin Paris.Accordingto Bair (but not to others) it has
remaineda curiouslyseparate-but-equal
ever since. Consistency
arrangement
is also evidentin the account of Beckett's comic/tragicrelationshipwith
JamesJoyceand his daughterLucia. The information
suppliedby Bair could
supplementthatin Ellmann'sbiographyand fillin lacunae in the correspondence. Unfortunately,
as we shallsee, its value is diminishedby errorswhich
are bound to suggestcaveats.Finally,in additionto a careful
accountingof
Beckett'swriting,thereis a usefuland enlighteningpiecing togetherof accountsof his oversightof productionsof his plays. Once again we are struck
by the picture of a surprisinglyself-assuredman demandingof actors the
ultimateagainst-the-grain
effortto repressmuch of theirtrainingin the service of eccentricbut powerful dramaticeffects.In short,there are
plenty
of good thingsin thisbook, and no Beckettenthusiastor scholar can afford
not to read it.
This havingbeen said, we must also note some flaws.
Throughout the
book, but particularlyafterthe lettersto McGreevy have driedup, the reader gets whiffsof the dissertationpox, traces of the card file
generatingfrequentlyboringcataloguesof facts (Beckett'strips,visitshome, the medical
problemsof both Beckettand Suzanne,his visitsfromIreland,contactswith
relatives,etc.). These are occasionallyfleshedout with dubious passages of
which could only be justifiedif backed up by
mind-reading
correspondence.
Since Bair's sources of informationfor the recent
years have been meager,
however,a large chunk of the book is very arid reading,containinglittleor
nothingthat illuminatesthe human situation.And since this happens to be
the period duringwhich scholarsand criticshave had the most to do with
Beckett,I am certainthat much was lost because the author failed to approach-or got no help from-manyof Beckett's academic friendsand acquaintances:scholarslike Raymond Federman,Richard Ellmann (who gets
in thesepages), and Hugh Kenner (whose work is obliquely
roughtreatment
rejected).
There is throughoutthis biographyan antiacademicbias which
may
stem from an avowed distrustof critical
approaches which lack the biographer'sinside view. Yet, one wonders why those of them who have had
real contact with the author'ssubject, even those who
may not have had
Beckett'sseal of approval,would not add somethingto thisaccount and con-

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tributesubstanceto the concludingchapters.No availableopportunityshould

have been neglectedto bringthe recentyears to life. It is curious that,like
RichardEllmann (to whose biographyof Joyce thisbook has been perhaps
hyperbolicallycompared), Ms. Bair is weakest when approachingthe present.We shall clearlyhave to await a laterstudyto give us a fullaccount of
the post-Nobel years. Furthermore,since the commentsof colleagues sugin these pages,we
gest thatat leastsome of the sourceswere misrepresented
will also have to await the necessarycorrectivestudy.
As a Joycean,I was delightedto have new and more detailedinformationconcerningBeckett'srelationshipwith his Irish"master"and concerning
his prolonged and agonizing relationshipwith Lucia Joyce. It should be
noted thatBeckett'ssympathyfor Lucia in her deterioratingmentalcondition was genuine and sustained as was his admirationfor Joyce, whose
mementoshe stillcherishes.But my pleasurein thisinstancewas alloyed by
disappointmentwith factual and interpretiveerrors.For example, one of
Beckett's prized possessionsis Joyce's famous waistcoat embroideredwith
dogs, a photographof which was reproducedin the La Hune catalogue of
the Joyce collection. Ms. Bair calls it his "extraordinarily
flower-patterned
waistcoat."Perhapsit is true that"in December 1929,Joyce invitedBeckett
to translate'Anna Livia Plurabelle,'" but Becketthimselfremembersit differently,sayingthatAlfredPron and he firstundertookthe job on theirown.
The authoritycited for this detail is Mme Pron, and one is struckby the
frequencywith which only one source has been consultedand how seldom
thatsource is the authorhimself.How is it possiblethat,despitethe correct
versionin Ellmann, Ms. Bair places the Breton seaside resort of La Baule,
where Lucia was stayingat the beginningof the war, in Switzerland?This
would put the Joyce familyin a safe spot at the very timetheywere trying
desperatelyto be unitedon neutralground.The less said the betterconcerning Bair's commentaryon Joyce'swork, especiallyon Finnegans Wake. We
may only note in passingher nave assumptionthata passagewrittenin 1926
and referringto Sam alludes to Beckett,who met Joyce in 1928; the most
obvious subject of this passage is Joyce himself.More surprisingis a misreadingboth of Joyce's reactionto and Beckett's probable intentin More
Pricks Than Kicks. Bair cites only part of Joyce's mildlyapprovingcomment,overlookingthe significantunderlyinganxietyand the biographical
overtonesin the followinglines: "One of the charactersis named Lucia but
is quite different.
She is a cripple or something."*The tale in questiondoes
containa Lucy (not Lucia). In a veiled fashionit may reflectBeckett'sdisturbingrelationshipwiththe daughterof the man he so admired.One would
expect this allusionto be caught by a biographerwho is so quick to draw
conclusionsfromotherdata,and we may questionin thislightthe statement
thatthe last six storiesare not autobiographical.
We are used to seeing biographersgoing throughtheirpaces as critics,
* LettersofJames
, ed. RichardEllmann(New York:VikingPress,1966),III,
Joyce
316.

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22 6

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adducing conclusionsfromdetailsof the life.At timessuch detailsand conclusions are genuinelyhelpful,if only in bolsteringthe insightsof critics.
Here, where we are lucky enough to findbits of diaryor letters,or conversations,we can see what Beckettwas readingand what he valued in literature: theJournalof JulesRenard,theworksand personalityof Samuel Johnson, and the early work of Louis-FerdinandCline (who, he told Peggy
Guggenheim,was the foremostwriterof our centuryafterJoyce). Unmenare the Portuguesepolypoet Fernando Pesoa and
tioned,but also significant
van Gogh as letterwriter,etc. The biographicalsources for images and deof unpublished
tails,the lifepatternsrepeatedin thework,and the treatments
and, in some cases, hithertountreatedmanuscriptsare all of value. Less useful are the extendedplot summariesand the value judgmentswhich reflect
And thenthereare the all too frequentglarverylittlecriticalsophistication.
ing errorsand misreadings.
Her biographicalfixationleads Ms. Bair to make statementslike the following concerningBeckett's hilariousand disturbingwartimemasterpiece
Watt:
At timesit vergeson autobiography.. . . There are descriptions
of the countrysidearound Foxrock, allusionsto his boyhood
and constantreferencesto the seasonalcycles of the plantsand
animalsof Ireland. At other times,Watt is only an academic
exercisefor a vital mind hemmedin by the accident of war,
which restrictedhis residence,access to books, friendsand
family.
It is hardto believethatso carefula craftsmanas Beckettis would allow academic exercisesto be printed.Ms. Bair goes on to state that in purginghis
styleof Joyce (which he actually,thoughperhapsnot so consciously,did),
Beckett "concentratedfor [sic] a single meaning,explicit,immediatelyapparent. . . and with profoundimplicationfor his own personalexistenceas
well as for the universalaudience." This is certainlytrue,but the emphasis
is misplaced.Beckett's transparent-seeming
utterance (like that of Kafka)
pointsup its universalimplicationsand subvertsany singlemeaning.In summarizingthe plot, Bair makes significanterrors,omittingfromher account
the openingsequence with its portraitof threeestablishment
zanies and the
oblique glimpseof Watt throughtheireyes,tellingus thatWatt "is firstencounteredin a railwaystation."I submitthatthe hunchbackedMr. Hackett
is a surrogateforSam, who admitsto tellingthe last partof the tale at Watt's
dictation.The note sounded by Sam and the Hackett/Beckettrhyme are
surelysignificantfor both biographerand critic,and the opening sequence
with its resoundingnon sequitursis easily as importantas the concluding
pages of "Addenda" over which criticscontinueto puzzle.
It is worthnotingthatMs. Bair has scant sympathyfor the novels after
Murphyand none forthesecond halfof the earlierMore Pricks Than Kicks.
For her,onlyMurphyis a "carefullycraftednovel"; it alone meritsa chapter
by itself.But even here the bias is evident:

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Most of hischaracterswere based on people he had known,but

his ultimateintentionwas to make Murphy an illustrationof
philosophicalprinciples;thus, there was a certain amount of
structureand formhe needed to inventand thenimpose upon
the characters.
Her treatmentof the trilogyis anothermatter.With few biographical
crutchesto lean on, she limps fromerrorto error,sheddinglittlelight,explainingnext to nothing.The plot summariesare mercifullybrief. In the
account of Molloy we learnthatat the beginningof his narrativeMolloy has
been in his mother'sroom "at least a year," that he begins "by tellinghow
hisjourneybegan,"thathe is arrested"for theway he ridesthebicycle,"that
Lousse actually"drugs" Molloy's food,thathe goes to the seaside "to renew
his sixteensuckingstones."None of theseassertionsis true in any verifiable
are not foregrounded.For
sense in a novel where truthand verisimilitude
the record,Molloy says: "I took advantageof being at the seasideto lay in a
store of suckingstones."What is importanthere is the failureof the biographernot only to follow the "facts" but also to understandthe nature of
the objects she is dealing with. Fortunately,though not consistently,she
does betterwith the plays.
Having compiled these quibbles,we must admitthat Bair has writtena
book which we can and will use. Until a betteraccount comes along it will
serveus quite well. For all itsweaknesses,it is neithera trivialnor a negligible
accomplishment.Still, if it satisfiesour curiosityconcerningthe details of
Beckett'sbackgroundand life,it failsto elicittrustand only whets our appetite for more and more reliable information.One may hope that it will
sendreadersback to thebooks to discovera Beckettwho is deeperand richer,
more amusingand more intriguingthananythingfoundon thesepages.

Poetry in America: Expression and its Values in the Times of Bryant,

Whitman, and Pound. By Bernard Duifey. Durham, N.C.: Duke UniversityPress, 1978. xiv, 358 pp. $14.75.
In Canto XIII Ezra Pound writesof "a timewhen historiansleftblanks
in theirwritings"-a humbleconcessionto the mysteriousothernessof their
materials.The major historiansof American poetry-Roy Harvey Pearce
and Hyatt H. Waggoner- have chosen,however,to stresswhat Pearce called
The Continuityof American Poetry, though they definedthat continuity
At firstglance,BernardDuffey'sPoetry in America seems
quite differently.
an innovativeswerve fromthis traditionof historicalwriting.Right at the
start,Duffeystatesthat he has "not found any single essence,so much as I
have alterationand a varietyof poetic voices," and it appearsthatthiscritic,
abjuringthe imperialthrustof a monolithicthesis,will allow for the discon-

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