This is Jönson’s story on his work with inmates in high security prisons in Sweden and USA, doing stagings of “Waiting for Godot”. The choice of play is clever, of course. Samuel Beckett’s play about the static wait for salvation and change, an archetypical situation completely free from all contemporary references, has the potential to be very relatable to people being locked up for a long time. And Jönson’s stagings were talked about in their time – not least the fact that almost the whole Swedish ensemble escaped during a guest performance in a theatre outside the prison walls. The notion of Vladimir and Estragon being fed up with waiting and running away instead was something Beckett himself (very interested in these projects) found hilarious.

I read this book over fifteen years ago, when I was just starting to get interested in trying to work with theatre. I found it fascinating back then, I recall, and re-reading it I was surprised at how much of it I remember. But now, when I work professionally in theatre myself, there’s a certain starry eyed quality in Jönson’s account that bugs me. How everybody just relates to this play, people who’ve never been to the theatre in their life immediately starts to feel this text is a tool to fully express themselves. There’s hardly a single rehearsal which isn’t incredibly powerful, tearful and full of insight. Theatre is Holy here, with a capital H. These are exiting journeys to follow, but I can’t help but feeling Jönson exaggerates more than a little – and is at times manipulated a little bit.

Also, the man can’t write. ( )