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Molloy; Malone Dies; The Unnamable by Samuel…
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Molloy; Malone Dies; The Unnamable (1951)

by Samuel Beckett

Other authors: See the other authors section.

Series: Beckett's Trilogy (omnibus)

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Uscita tra il 1951 e il 1953, e scritta in francese, la Trilogia ha imposto Beckett sulla scena europea. I suoi personaggi, misteriosamente infermi, isolati nei loro disperati monologhi, incarnano emblematicamente la solitudine dell'uomo contemporaneo, ma anche la sua paradossale resistenza passiva al destino di annientamento che lo minaccia, sotto cieli vuoti non più abitati da alcuna divinità. Apparsa in Italia a metà degli anni '60, la Trilogia è sempre stata considerata un'opera a parte rispetto alla più celebre produzione teatrale di Beckett, anche a causa delle sue difficoltà interpretative.

L' irlandese Samuel Beckett nacque nel 1906 ed è uno dei miei scrittori preferiti di lingua inglese. Famose le sue commedie teatrali, i suoi romanzi, le sue opere per la televisione e la radio. Chi non ricorda "Godot"? una commedia che tutto è tranne una commedia.

Premio Nobel per la letteratura nel 1969, ricordo che comprai nel 1962, a Londra, una delle prime copie di "Godot" e non ci capii assolutamente nulla. Un pò perchè ero agli inizi dello studio della lingua, ero là a studiarla lavorando. Un pò perchè, giovane com'ero, non potevo capire l'idea, il concetto, la definizione di "assurdità".

La parola-chiave emergente, il "tag" si direbbe oggi, di quei giorni, riferita a Beckett, era, appunto questa. Era nato con Godot il "teatro dell'assurdo". Nella immagine qui sopra viene riprodotta una delle sue tante frasi, questa la si legge in "Endgame" - "Finale di partita". La qualità linguistica delle parole usate ben si sposa con il contenuto, dando vita all"assurdo" che l'autore cerca di convogliare al lettore.

In un'altra situazione, "Aspettando Godot", dirà: "Words are all we have" - "Le parole, è tutto quello che abbiamo". Questo mi pare il senso delle sue opere e del suo messaggio artistico. Trovo tutta l'opera di Samuel Beckett di grande attualità, anche a distanza di tanto tempo. Tutta la sua produzione tende a cercare le ragioni del nostro esistere, per quanto assurda l'esistenza possa essere.

Questa egli pensava fosse la missione di chi scrive. Ecco perchè questo blogger continua a scrivere, per capire. Se capirà, o meno, alla "fine della partita", poco conta. L'importante è averci provato. Sono convinto che Samuel Beckett la penserebbe così.

Della trilogia ci sarà modo e tempo di parlarne dopo di averla riletta ...
( )
  AntonioGallo | Nov 2, 2017 |
“To know you can do better next time, unrecognizably better, and that there is no next time, and that it is a blessing there is not, there is a thought to be going on with.”

—Malone Dies by Samuel Beckett

It’s probably been fifteen years since I’d read “Malloy”, the first part to Beckett’s non-self-acknowledged “Trilogy”, and I cannot deny the impact that the first part had on my own novel of OCD, body dysmorphic disorder, delusion and addiction: “Fluid Babies”. The impact that this second installment will have on my future writing will have to be intercepted by radar, sifting the raw dataflow for Beckettian echoes. I certainly won’t wait another fifteen years to complete this master’s experiment on the deconstructed novel. Fortunately, pioneers such as Beckett can only truly be appreciated by those brave readers, critics and writers who skirt the steady diet of comfort food and sugar buzzes by preferring to indulge in the exotic and bizarre fare from unfamiliar countries. Whole food. Ingested and digested. Over time to understand and then implement its uniqueness in personal, favorite dishes. I’d imagine chutneys developed this way. Over time. Restless experimentation. Punctuating the familiar with flamboyance from alien shores, alien planets, alien hands shaking over the distances and leaving an otherworldly scent.

This. This is how I feel about Samuel Beckett. He doesn’t just write. He shows you how easy it is to not give a fuck about the particulars while showing how important those particulars actually are. Knowing the difference makes all the difference in the world. And if you don’t get it, well, then you probably weren’t open to a new way of looking at the world anyway. Chutneys aren’t for everyone. ( )
  ToddSherman | Aug 24, 2017 |
La narrativa non si è mai spinta più in là. Più in alto, forse, ma non più in là.
Trama? Se ne può fare a meno. Spazio? Basta la mente del protagonista. Tempo? Basta la mente del protagonista. Logica? Non è importante che sia lineare.
Beckett lancia una sfida. A coglierla ci vuole un po' di coraggio. Ma la soddisfazione non tarda ad arrivare. Lascia il segno. Tutto quanto tu abbia letto prima o leggerai dopo è convenzionale... ( )
  downisthenewup | Aug 17, 2017 |
I'm speechless.

( )
  poingu | Jan 23, 2016 |
Read Molloy which was tricky. Read Malone Dies which was trickier still. Once you're in the groove, they're wonderful, but takes some time to get there.

Have not yet read The Unnamable. ( )
1 vote sometimeunderwater | Aug 6, 2014 |
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» Add other authors (12 possible)

Author nameRoleType of authorWork?Status
Beckett, Samuelprimary authorall editionsconfirmed
Bowles, PatrickTranslatorsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
Josipovici, GabrielIntroductionsecondary authorsome editionsconfirmed
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I am in my mother's room.
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(Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)
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Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable
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Amazon.com Amazon.com Review (ISBN 0802150918, Paperback)

Samuel Beckett's brilliance as a dramatist--as the creator of Waiting for Godot, Krapp's Last Tape, and that despairing pas de deux Endgame--has tended to overshadow his gifts as a novelist. Yet he's unmistakably one of the great fiction writers of our century. As a young man he took dictation (literally) from James Joyce, and absorbed everything that myopic maestro had to offer when it came to Anglo-Irish prosody. Still, Beckett's instincts would ultimately steer him away from Joyce's delirious play with high and low diction, toward a more concentrated, even compulsive style. His earlier novels, like Murphy or Watt, give us a taste of what was to come. But Beckett truly hit his stride with a trilogy of early-1950s masterpieces: Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable. Here he dispenses with all the customary props of contemporary fiction--including exposition, plot, and increasingly, paragraphs--and turns his attention to consciousness itself. Nobody has ever evoked the pain of existence, or the steady slide toward nonexistence, with such poetic, garrulous accuracy. And once you've attuned yourself to the epistemological vaudeville of Beckett's prose, he turns out to be the funniest writer on the planet--ever.

None of the three entries in the trilogy is exactly amenable to summary. It's fair to say, though, that Molloy is the easiest to read, with at least a bare-bones narrative and an abundance of comical set pieces. In one famous episode, the narrator spends page after page figuring out how to vary the sucking stones he carries in his pockets:

And while I gazed thus at my stones, revolving interminable martingales all equally defective, and crushing handfuls of sand, so that the sand ran through my fingers and fell back on the strand, yes, while thus I lulled my mind and part of my body, one day suddenly it dawned on the former, dimly, that I might perhaps achieve my purpose without increasing the number of my pockets, or reducing the number of my stones, but simply by sacrificing the principle of trim. The meaning of this illumination, which suddenly began to sing within me, like a verse of Isaiah, or of Jeremiah, I did not penetrate at once, and notably the word trim, which I had never met with, in this sense, long remained obscure.
This nutty ratiocination goes on for much, much longer, until the narrator loses patience and throws the stones away. And that's a fair encapsulation of Beckett's philosophy: he argues for the essential pointlessness of life--the solitary, wretched splendor of human existence--but does so in a comic rather than a tragic register, which ends up softening or even overpowering the bleakness of his initial premise. So Malone Dies opens with a typically morbid mood-lifter ("I shall soon be quite dead at last in spite of it all") and then makes endless comedic hay out of Malone's failure to keel over. And by the time we hit The Unnamable, we're forced to wonder whether the narrator actually exists: "I, say I. Unbelieving. Questions, hypotheses, call them that. Keep going, going on, call that going, call that on." Happily, Beckett worried these same questions and hypotheses to the end of his career, with increasingly minimalistic gusto. But he never topped the intensity or linguistic brilliance of this mind-bending three-part invention. --James Marcus

(retrieved from Amazon Thu, 12 Mar 2015 18:15:01 -0400)

(see all 4 descriptions)

"The first novel of Samuel Beckett's mordant and exhilarating midcentury trilogy introduces us to Molloy, who has been mysteriously incarcerated, and who subsequently escapes to go discover the whereabouts of his mother. In the latter part of this curious masterwork, a certain Jacques Moran is deputized by anonymous authorities to search for the aforementioned Molloy. In the trilogy's second novel, Malone, who might or might not be Molloy himself, addresses us with his ruminations while in the act of dying. The third novel consists of the fragmented monologue-delivered, like the monologues of the previous novels, in a mournful rhetoric that possesses the utmost splendor and beauty-of what might or might not be an armless and legless creature living in an urn outside an eating house. Taken together, these three novels represent the high-water mark of the literary movement we call Modernism. Within their linguistic terrain, where stories are taken up, broken off, and taken up again, where voices rise and crumble and are resurrected, we can discern the essential lineaments of our modern condition, and encounter an awesome vision, tragic yet always compelling and always mysteriously invigorating, of consciousness trapped and struggling inside the boundaries of nature."--Publisher's website.… (more)

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