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Worstward Ho
Beckett's second last prose text, Worstward Ho, is a novella written in 1983, shortly after the largely autobiographical Company and an ironic theological speculation, both previously published as the first two parts of a late trilogy of short novels. The concentration of language and precision of description in the current work is revolutionary, even for Beckett, the great reshaper of literary expression, and its theme is the creation of life, as if by a malignant God or Demiurge. Life, against all possibility, finally exists, and man becomes a painful presence. It is one of the supreme poetic texts of the 20th century.
47 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
19 people are currently reading
1915 people want to read
About the author
Samuel Beckett
915 books6,549 followersNovels of Samuel Barclay Beckett, Irish writer, include
Murphy
in 1938 and
Malone Dies
in 1951; a wider audience know his absurdist plays, such as
Waiting for Godot
in 1952 and
Krapp's Last Tape
in 1959, and he won the Nobel Prize of 1969 for literature.
Samuel Barclay Beckett, an avant-garde theater director and poet, lived in France for most of his adult life. He used English and French. His work offers a bleak, tragicomic outlook on human nature, often coupled with black gallows humor.
People regard most influence of Samuel Barclay Beckett of the 20th century. James Augustine Aloysius Joyce strongly influenced him, whom people consider as one modernist. People sometimes consider him as an inspiration to many later first postmodernists. He is one of the key in what Martin Esslin called the "theater of the absurd". His later career worked with increasing minimalism.
People awarded Samuel Barclay Beckett "for his writing, which—in new forms for the novel and drama—in the destitution of modern man acquires its elevation".
In 1984, people elected Samuel Barclay Bennett as Saoi of Aosdána.
Samuel Barclay Beckett, an avant-garde theater director and poet, lived in France for most of his adult life. He used English and French. His work offers a bleak, tragicomic outlook on human nature, often coupled with black gallows humor.
People regard most influence of Samuel Barclay Beckett of the 20th century. James Augustine Aloysius Joyce strongly influenced him, whom people consider as one modernist. People sometimes consider him as an inspiration to many later first postmodernists. He is one of the key in what Martin Esslin called the "theater of the absurd". His later career worked with increasing minimalism.
People awarded Samuel Barclay Beckett "for his writing, which—in new forms for the novel and drama—in the destitution of modern man acquires its elevation".
In 1984, people elected Samuel Barclay Bennett as Saoi of Aosdána.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 103 reviews
February 28, 2025
On. Stare on. Say on. Be on. Somehow on. Anyhow on. Till dim gone. At long last gone. All at long last gone. For bad and all. For poor best worse and all.
I honestly don't know how to review this piece of excellence. I can't call it a story, because it doesn't have a plot. It is the abstractest of writings. Beckett uses made-up words, his sentence structure is crooked. You should read it as if you're reading a poem...slow in some places and fast in others.
Do not read this if you haven't read any other Beckett. For someone who loves Beckett and understands him, this piece is like heavenly music and for someone who doesn't appreciate him, would sound like rantings of a deranged person.
Enough to know no knowing. No knowing what it is the words it secretes say. No saying. No saying what it all is they somehow say.
This piece of writing was so good, that John Tilbury made music based on the words that Beckett wrote.
Worstward Ho is about life... its ups and downs...its nastiness and at the same time its sweetness. We are born, we live, we love, we hate, we go through whatever fate throws at us and in the end, we die. We become nothing.
Is it all worth it?
Is it?
An excerpt:
"Longing the so-said mind long lost to longing. The so-missaid. So far so missaid. Dint of long longing lost to longing. Long vain longing. And longing still. Faintly longing still. Faintly vainly longing still. For fainter still. For faintest. Faintly vainly longing for the least of longing. Unlessenable least of longing. Unstillable vain last of longing still. Longing that all go. Dim go. Void go. Longing go. Vain longing that vain longing go."
I honestly don't know how to review this piece of excellence. I can't call it a story, because it doesn't have a plot. It is the abstractest of writings. Beckett uses made-up words, his sentence structure is crooked. You should read it as if you're reading a poem...slow in some places and fast in others.
Do not read this if you haven't read any other Beckett. For someone who loves Beckett and understands him, this piece is like heavenly music and for someone who doesn't appreciate him, would sound like rantings of a deranged person.
Enough to know no knowing. No knowing what it is the words it secretes say. No saying. No saying what it all is they somehow say.
This piece of writing was so good, that John Tilbury made music based on the words that Beckett wrote.
Worstward Ho is about life... its ups and downs...its nastiness and at the same time its sweetness. We are born, we live, we love, we hate, we go through whatever fate throws at us and in the end, we die. We become nothing.
Is it all worth it?
Is it?
An excerpt:
"Longing the so-said mind long lost to longing. The so-missaid. So far so missaid. Dint of long longing lost to longing. Long vain longing. And longing still. Faintly longing still. Faintly vainly longing still. For fainter still. For faintest. Faintly vainly longing for the least of longing. Unlessenable least of longing. Unstillable vain last of longing still. Longing that all go. Dim go. Void go. Longing go. Vain longing that vain longing go."
January 1, 2023
Identity stripped of identification - haunting and tinged with existential doubt. I always feel a palpable sense of abandonment when I read Beckett; as if I am lost and waiting for someone to help me find my way. I really have to 'balance' out my reading of his works - a feeling of metaphysical horror - have had nightmares after reading him.
May 26, 2017
The prose poem is one of the shortest reads on 1001 book list. Read it here with interpretation:
http://www.samuel-beckett.net/w_ho.htm
"On. Stare on. Say on. Be on. Somehow on. Anyhow on. Till dim gone. At long last gone. All at long last gone. For bad and all. For poor best worst and all."
http://www.samuel-beckett.net/w_ho.htm
"On. Stare on. Say on. Be on. Somehow on. Anyhow on. Till dim gone. At long last gone. All at long last gone. For bad and all. For poor best worst and all."
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November 14, 2015
Second last. Nearly done. Say one. Say none. Till nohow on. At last.
At last. Say done. Say book. Say read. Again. Misread? Again.
A man and child. Holding on. Till end. Till done. Till nohow on.
Hand in hand. Hold and held. Not one. Become one. Then fade.
Old man. Up and stand. Up and done. No. Bit by bit. Old age and done.
Old age and done. On no more. On ground. In ground. In earth. Then done.
In ground. Now gone. Say book. Say read. Say read again. Till nohow on.
At last. Say done. Say book. Say read. Again. Misread? Again.
A man and child. Holding on. Till end. Till done. Till nohow on.
Hand in hand. Hold and held. Not one. Become one. Then fade.
Old man. Up and stand. Up and done. No. Bit by bit. Old age and done.
Old age and done. On no more. On ground. In ground. In earth. Then done.
In ground. Now gone. Say book. Say read. Say read again. Till nohow on.
September 9, 2023
This author's unique scenery can make or break their writing, especially in a classroom setting. I chose this small book from the Beckett collection for a quick read between serious stories.
Error! Small doesn't mean simple! This "novel," therefore, as I read it and felt it for my part, seems to evoke the hesitations, the narrative choices which had charged on the author or the screenwriter, through a series of nominal sentences, of a, two or three words for the most part. The repetitive and heady side, if we read it with intonation, gradually becomes like a song, a chorus, a nursery rhyme, or quite simply a poem in which characters appear, or simply images which reminds me of this device which, by scrolling through photos very quickly, sets them in motion. The author's unique scenery can make or break their writing, particularly in a classroom setting. I picked up Worstward Ho, a small book from the Beckett collection, for a quick read between serious stories. It's a mistake to assume that small means simple! As I read and felt the "novel," it became clear that it evokes the author's or screenwriter's hesitations and narrative choices through a series of nominal sentences of two or three words. When read with intonation, the book's repetitive and heady nature gradually becomes like a song, a chorus, a nursery rhyme, or even a poem in which characters or images appear. It reminds me of a device that sets photos in motion by scrolling through them quickly.
I don't know the real intention of Samuel Beckett, who wrote this text in the last years of his life, but this is how I appropriated it: a world of infinite possibilities that fade away for n 'leave more than one. Or two. No, the first one. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Once and for all, for good.
Error! Small doesn't mean simple! This "novel," therefore, as I read it and felt it for my part, seems to evoke the hesitations, the narrative choices which had charged on the author or the screenwriter, through a series of nominal sentences, of a, two or three words for the most part. The repetitive and heady side, if we read it with intonation, gradually becomes like a song, a chorus, a nursery rhyme, or quite simply a poem in which characters appear, or simply images which reminds me of this device which, by scrolling through photos very quickly, sets them in motion. The author's unique scenery can make or break their writing, particularly in a classroom setting. I picked up Worstward Ho, a small book from the Beckett collection, for a quick read between serious stories. It's a mistake to assume that small means simple! As I read and felt the "novel," it became clear that it evokes the author's or screenwriter's hesitations and narrative choices through a series of nominal sentences of two or three words. When read with intonation, the book's repetitive and heady nature gradually becomes like a song, a chorus, a nursery rhyme, or even a poem in which characters or images appear. It reminds me of a device that sets photos in motion by scrolling through them quickly.
I don't know the real intention of Samuel Beckett, who wrote this text in the last years of his life, but this is how I appropriated it: a world of infinite possibilities that fade away for n 'leave more than one. Or two. No, the first one. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. Once and for all, for good.
May 14, 2018
Worstward Ho was my first Beckett. I was utterly fascinated by this book even though it doesn't have an actual plot. To me it also doesn't seem like prose but more like a poem.
Beckett uses very short sentences, repeats lots of words and lines and also creates many neologisms which are often contradictory in themselves (e.g. the bestworst). If I had more time I'd like to do a thorough analysis of the book.
Even though there is no real plot I understood what Beckett wants to tell the reader which is another thing I find amazing.
The work also makes me curious about the rest of Beckett's work. The are several more of his books on the 1001 list so I shall find out soon.
Beckett uses very short sentences, repeats lots of words and lines and also creates many neologisms which are often contradictory in themselves (e.g. the bestworst). If I had more time I'd like to do a thorough analysis of the book.
Even though there is no real plot I understood what Beckett wants to tell the reader which is another thing I find amazing.
The work also makes me curious about the rest of Beckett's work. The are several more of his books on the 1001 list so I shall find out soon.
November 21, 2024
Worstward Ho is a literary exercise in minimalism that makes one yearn for the verbosity of a tax return. This novella, if one can call it that, is a relentless parade of monosyllabic drudgery, where the narrative seems to be in a perpetual state of existential crisis. Beckett, ever the maestro of bleakness, has outdone himself by crafting a text that reads like the ramblings of a particularly despondent caveman.
The prose, stripped of any semblance of joy or complexity, exemplifies Beckett's commitment to making his readers suffer. Each sentence is a laborious trek through a wasteland of despair, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of dark humor, which only serves to remind us of the futility of our existence. The famous line, "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better," might as well be the mantra for anyone attempting to find meaning in this work.
These 40 pages are not for the faint of heart or the easily bored. It is a challenge, a dare even, to see how much tedium one can endure before succumbing to the urge to fling the book across the room. Beckett's genius lies in his ability to make the reader feel every ounce of the characters' suffering, which, while impressive, is hardly enjoyable.
Worstward Ho is a triumph of tedium, a masterpiece of monotony. It is Beckett at his most Beckettian, which is to say, it is an experience best reserved for those with a masochistic streak, a fondness for alcohol, and a penchant for the absurd. For everyone else, it is a reminder that sometimes, the best way to fail better is to not try at all.
The prose, stripped of any semblance of joy or complexity, exemplifies Beckett's commitment to making his readers suffer. Each sentence is a laborious trek through a wasteland of despair, punctuated by the occasional glimmer of dark humor, which only serves to remind us of the futility of our existence. The famous line, "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better," might as well be the mantra for anyone attempting to find meaning in this work.
These 40 pages are not for the faint of heart or the easily bored. It is a challenge, a dare even, to see how much tedium one can endure before succumbing to the urge to fling the book across the room. Beckett's genius lies in his ability to make the reader feel every ounce of the characters' suffering, which, while impressive, is hardly enjoyable.
Worstward Ho is a triumph of tedium, a masterpiece of monotony. It is Beckett at his most Beckettian, which is to say, it is an experience best reserved for those with a masochistic streak, a fondness for alcohol, and a penchant for the absurd. For everyone else, it is a reminder that sometimes, the best way to fail better is to not try at all.
September 9, 2014
I cheated, reading this,
I found a version online, which included Colin Greenlaw's elaborations, see http://www.samuel-beckett.net/w_ho.htm
I printed it out, and read each section aloud, tried to make sense of it my own way, then read the elaboration to clarify it, and by the end of page two in my printout I was able to skip the elaborations because I'd got the hang of it.
Firstly, I don’t think it’s ‘about’ anything. It’s Beckett, in his unique Beckettian way, playing with the idea of reducing writing to less rather than more. (What else can an author do, after James Joyce’s Ulysses, eh?)
So the reader witnesses the author trying to say the absolute minimum. Obviously there has to be something to say, or the task/quest/game can’t be done at all, it would an empty page or maybe not even that. But to fit Beckett’s self-imposed brief, the fiction needs to be the very least it can be and yet not be nothing. (Are you still with me? I’m having great fun trying to explain this …)
We witness the author exploring setting: what is the very least it can be? Only dimness, dimness so dim that there is nothing there – but not a void because a void is nothingness, and there has to be something.
So leastward on. So long as dim still. Dim undimmed. Or dimmed to dimmer still. To dimmost dim. Leastmost in dimmost dim. Utmost dim. Leastmost in utmost dim. Unworsenable worst. (Beckett)
Thus they plod on towards the least, so long as there is dim still, undimmed dim. Or dim dimmed to dimmer still, to the most dim dim. They plod on leastmost in the most dim dim, in the utmost dim. They plod on leastmost in the utmost dim, in the unworsenable worst. (Greenlaw)
To see the rest of my ramblings about this amazing work of - um, fiction? please visit http://anzlitlovers.com/2013/03/19/wo...
BTW There's a really interesting essay about Beckett at http://www.csulb.edu/~bhfinney/becket...
I found a version online, which included Colin Greenlaw's elaborations, see http://www.samuel-beckett.net/w_ho.htm
I printed it out, and read each section aloud, tried to make sense of it my own way, then read the elaboration to clarify it, and by the end of page two in my printout I was able to skip the elaborations because I'd got the hang of it.
Firstly, I don’t think it’s ‘about’ anything. It’s Beckett, in his unique Beckettian way, playing with the idea of reducing writing to less rather than more. (What else can an author do, after James Joyce’s Ulysses, eh?)
So the reader witnesses the author trying to say the absolute minimum. Obviously there has to be something to say, or the task/quest/game can’t be done at all, it would an empty page or maybe not even that. But to fit Beckett’s self-imposed brief, the fiction needs to be the very least it can be and yet not be nothing. (Are you still with me? I’m having great fun trying to explain this …)
We witness the author exploring setting: what is the very least it can be? Only dimness, dimness so dim that there is nothing there – but not a void because a void is nothingness, and there has to be something.
So leastward on. So long as dim still. Dim undimmed. Or dimmed to dimmer still. To dimmost dim. Leastmost in dimmost dim. Utmost dim. Leastmost in utmost dim. Unworsenable worst. (Beckett)
Thus they plod on towards the least, so long as there is dim still, undimmed dim. Or dim dimmed to dimmer still, to the most dim dim. They plod on leastmost in the most dim dim, in the utmost dim. They plod on leastmost in the utmost dim, in the unworsenable worst. (Greenlaw)
To see the rest of my ramblings about this amazing work of - um, fiction? please visit http://anzlitlovers.com/2013/03/19/wo...
BTW There's a really interesting essay about Beckett at http://www.csulb.edu/~bhfinney/becket...
May 5, 2022
ok changed my mind beckett is a GENIUS
November 1, 2025
“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”
Beckett’s prose is pretty experimental and non-linear, so it’s not the easiest read. Still, I could really feel the sense of human existence in it. He keeps showing a child and an old man walking through an empty space, pushing forward no matter how heavy it feels.
Overall, it’s really intriguing. If I had more time, I’d definitely dive into more works like this.
-This book is included in the list: 1001 Books: You Must Read Before You Die-
Beckett’s prose is pretty experimental and non-linear, so it’s not the easiest read. Still, I could really feel the sense of human existence in it. He keeps showing a child and an old man walking through an empty space, pushing forward no matter how heavy it feels.
Overall, it’s really intriguing. If I had more time, I’d definitely dive into more works like this.
-This book is included in the list: 1001 Books: You Must Read Before You Die-
May 13, 2018
"Realistic fiction"--and therefore the writing of realistic fiction--is a grossly obvious but mostly passed over contradiction. I guess we call those paradoxes. It occurs to me, reading this, Beckett's last major statement, that something like a reaction to this conundrum lies behind all of his fictional work. The doubt and indecision and absurdity seems built in to his novels and short prose pieces. Even the rather emphatically-titled How It Is isn't really sure how it is at all. It's not even sure there is an it to be any way at all!
The beauty of this particular text, then, is in how succinctly and beautifully it says what Beckett's work has been saying all along (and this nearly concludes my project of reading all but the plays in chronological order). I can only assume that, in the final months of his life, Beckett decided to abandon writing in French and to take the path he'd not explored, that of style. (Since he claimed he abandoned English in order to "Write without style.") Style, then, seems to manifest itself in Nohow On in the techniques of repetition, pun, assonance, the stripping away of punctuation--there's not a single comma in the text--as well as any other small embellishment of which most texts, particularly novels, are overloaded for the sake of realism, ingratiation to the reader, or the Baroque flourishes that are usually associated with high literature.
The combination of the bare-bones of a narrative arguing with itself if it's even there at all, and, if it is there, what it's describing--and how it's describing what's there or not there--along with these obvious poetic techniques so seldom applied to prose makes for a remarkable novel. Just beautiful.
The beauty of this particular text, then, is in how succinctly and beautifully it says what Beckett's work has been saying all along (and this nearly concludes my project of reading all but the plays in chronological order). I can only assume that, in the final months of his life, Beckett decided to abandon writing in French and to take the path he'd not explored, that of style. (Since he claimed he abandoned English in order to "Write without style.") Style, then, seems to manifest itself in Nohow On in the techniques of repetition, pun, assonance, the stripping away of punctuation--there's not a single comma in the text--as well as any other small embellishment of which most texts, particularly novels, are overloaded for the sake of realism, ingratiation to the reader, or the Baroque flourishes that are usually associated with high literature.
The combination of the bare-bones of a narrative arguing with itself if it's even there at all, and, if it is there, what it's describing--and how it's describing what's there or not there--along with these obvious poetic techniques so seldom applied to prose makes for a remarkable novel. Just beautiful.
Read
May 3, 2022Don't know what's going on but I liked it.
February 3, 2025
te wgapienia w czarne dziury oczu... doskonale uzupełnia się z filmem (1965) Becketta! zalecam bycie z oboma, bo modus konsumowania tychże jest mało skuteczny wobec przeżycia, jakim może być wbijanie się w znaczenia obu
April 25, 2019
Awful. As it should be.
May 9, 2023
no thoughts head empty. much like beckett ❤️
June 14, 2020
Read. Say read. Read again. Read worse. Say read aloud. Read less worse louder. Say listen. Listen most worst. Move on. Move back. Read plain read. Plain slow read.... Very prose. So poem. Much concentrate. Wow.
January 20, 2018
The genius of Worstward Ho lies in its ambiguity and a challenging interplay of words, or lack thereof. It can mean absolutely anything. It can be about failure. It can be about loss. Or it can be about any crisis. It can also be about hope.
On. Somehow on. Anyhow on. No choice but stand. Somehow up and stand. Somehow stand. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
On. Somehow on. Anyhow on. No choice but stand. Somehow up and stand. Somehow stand. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
February 4, 2013
Read. First read. Unfinished.
Confusion.
Read. Not first read. Ununfinished. Tried again. Failed again better.
Here.
Confusion.
Read. Not first read. Ununfinished. Tried again. Failed again better.
Here.
May 4, 2022
This tickled the far reaches of my brain. No skull? Holy hell.
December 28, 2015
Worstward Ho is a strange, monosyllabic and disorientating prose poem with a very musical sense of rhythm. In the following excerpt s/he attempts to imagine, from the bones outwards, a character, but becomes sidetracked:
As with here, the narrator is stuck in indecisiveness and is preoccupied with relative states if "worse"ness - which are equated with shades of darkness: "Dim can go. Void cannot go". As she continually revises her words the paragraphs become a little solar system of tongue-twisting, recurring verbal motifs:
This style makes for some funny sequences like "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better" or "Latest state. Till somehow less in vain. Worse in vain. All gnawing to be naught. Never to be naught", but the narrator seems mostly confused, frustrated and desperate to declare something worthwhile. He considers his or herself stuck in a void, and he struggles to see anything. The occasional figure of the old man and young boy hand in hand, or the old woman at a grave, or the human skull, float into view but they are always fading out of sight, as he fails to describe them and gives up.
A difficult one to really love, but nevertheless one that really sticks with you for its creepy mood and stylistic boldness, despite its lack of substance. A worthy exercise in style, but don't read too deeply into it.
First one. First try fail better one. Something there badly wrong. Not that as it is[,] it is not bad. The no face[:] bad. The no hands[:] bad. The no-. Enough. A pox on bad. Mere bad. Way for worse. Pending worse still. (page 21)
As with here, the narrator is stuck in indecisiveness and is preoccupied with relative states if "worse"ness - which are equated with shades of darkness: "Dim can go. Void cannot go". As she continually revises her words the paragraphs become a little solar system of tongue-twisting, recurring verbal motifs:
Longing the so-said mind long lost to longing. The so-missaid. So far so-missaid. Dint of long longing lost to longing. Long vain longing. And longing still. Faintly longing still. Faintly vainly longing still. For fainter still. For faintest. Faintly vainly longing for the least of longing. Unlessenable least of longing. Unstillable vain least of longing still. (page 36)
This style makes for some funny sequences like "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better" or "Latest state. Till somehow less in vain. Worse in vain. All gnawing to be naught. Never to be naught", but the narrator seems mostly confused, frustrated and desperate to declare something worthwhile. He considers his or herself stuck in a void, and he struggles to see anything. The occasional figure of the old man and young boy hand in hand, or the old woman at a grave, or the human skull, float into view but they are always fading out of sight, as he fails to describe them and gives up.
A difficult one to really love, but nevertheless one that really sticks with you for its creepy mood and stylistic boldness, despite its lack of substance. A worthy exercise in style, but don't read too deeply into it.
May 8, 2012
Recommended to me by a "goodreader," and although I read it once last week, this second time through was worth the effort. I read it in transit from home to work accompanied by John Duncan's masterful shortwave recording, "Phantom Broadcast." This "story" is a work of art that seems to demand the reading voice to be heard either spoken or clearly within oneself (speaking to oneself and actively listening while reading). Those moments where it felt like I was being read to (probably thanks to Duncan's hypnotic piece) gave me the sense of beginning to "get" the piece. It started to feel like creative non-fiction, but all images receded when I tried to turn the analytic switch on during the read. I skimmed a line-by-line interpretation website, but that kind of clarity, too, too easily given, doesn't feel right. I want to work for the meanings I attribute to what is being communicated here and hope that they are not far from Beckett's--without an easy fix. It will take time.
December 27, 2020
A short 22 pages of very short, staccato like sentences. The author explores a world without purpose and rationality.
Here are a couple of examples of the writing style:
‘Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’
‘Best worst no farther. Nohow less. Nohow worse. Nohow naught. Nohow on. Said nohow on.’
Here are a couple of examples of the writing style:
‘Try again. Fail again. Fail better.’
‘Best worst no farther. Nohow less. Nohow worse. Nohow naught. Nohow on. Said nohow on.’
June 27, 2016
Not a book for most anyone. To me just a lot of jibberish. I thought I was reading Ulysses. There must be those people that this means something.
March 13, 2021
Somehow nohow on. [...]
Well so-missaid.
Well so-missaid.
September 20, 2022
reading this on the way to the office and thinking how wonderful it is that not only does toronto have a subway line that goes east and west but it also has one that goes north and south
May 11, 2023
i- what was that?...okay. james?
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February 2, 2023(Part of my current project of reading everything Beckett published in precise chronological order.)
Beckett's final extended prose piece is stunningly minimalistic in its diction. Most of the words are monosyllabic, and most of the 'sentences' (that is, strings of words terminating in periods) are very short. Paradoxically, though, this is, I would say, the prose piece of his that requires the greatest concentration. This is Beckett at his most meticulous. On first examination, most of the sentences are simply sentence fragments. However, it quickly becomes clear that he uses grammatical elision with surgical precision so that each seeming sentence fragment can actually be parsed. Some of them can be parsed univocally, while others are carefully ambiguous, lending themselves to multiple readings that resonate with each other in an austere play of meaning that unfolds at the very edges of silence. Clarifying what the text is doing, then, requires dwelling carefully on each word, on each phrase. If there was ever a text that demands to be read slowly, it's this one.
What is Worstward Ho about, though? The title gives us a clue. The narrator is dead set on the task of poetic utterance, but its aim is not to perfect its task, but in a curious way to fail at it. However, the failure aimed for here is not just any old failure. Rather, the narrator is driven by the hope that by pushing poetic utterance as close to inarticulate silence as it can possibly be, it can uncover the being of that strange site where poetic utterance takes place, where it emerges in a manner that can't quite be called creation, but can't quite be called discovery either. What exactly is it that happens in this strange site, and why does the poet feel compelled to inhabit it? I think these are the questions that plagued Beckett his whole life, and rather than try to provide answers, he devoted his writing to the attempt to give expression to the mystery they embody.
Beckett's final extended prose piece is stunningly minimalistic in its diction. Most of the words are monosyllabic, and most of the 'sentences' (that is, strings of words terminating in periods) are very short. Paradoxically, though, this is, I would say, the prose piece of his that requires the greatest concentration. This is Beckett at his most meticulous. On first examination, most of the sentences are simply sentence fragments. However, it quickly becomes clear that he uses grammatical elision with surgical precision so that each seeming sentence fragment can actually be parsed. Some of them can be parsed univocally, while others are carefully ambiguous, lending themselves to multiple readings that resonate with each other in an austere play of meaning that unfolds at the very edges of silence. Clarifying what the text is doing, then, requires dwelling carefully on each word, on each phrase. If there was ever a text that demands to be read slowly, it's this one.
What is Worstward Ho about, though? The title gives us a clue. The narrator is dead set on the task of poetic utterance, but its aim is not to perfect its task, but in a curious way to fail at it. However, the failure aimed for here is not just any old failure. Rather, the narrator is driven by the hope that by pushing poetic utterance as close to inarticulate silence as it can possibly be, it can uncover the being of that strange site where poetic utterance takes place, where it emerges in a manner that can't quite be called creation, but can't quite be called discovery either. What exactly is it that happens in this strange site, and why does the poet feel compelled to inhabit it? I think these are the questions that plagued Beckett his whole life, and rather than try to provide answers, he devoted his writing to the attempt to give expression to the mystery they embody.
March 4, 2016
No choice but stand. Somehow
up and stand. Somehow stand. That or
groan. The groan so long on its way. No.
No groan. Simply pain. Simply up. A
time when try how. Try see. Try say.
How first it lay. Then somehow knelt.
Bit by bit. Then on from there. Bit by bit.
Till up at last. Not now. Fail better
worse now.
up and stand. Somehow stand. That or
groan. The groan so long on its way. No.
No groan. Simply pain. Simply up. A
time when try how. Try see. Try say.
How first it lay. Then somehow knelt.
Bit by bit. Then on from there. Bit by bit.
Till up at last. Not now. Fail better
worse now.
November 22, 2015
I enjoyed stepping out from normal with this one. It has an arc that I was able to follow. I liked the interpretation with each paragraph translated here: http://www.samuel-beckett.net/w_ho.htm
It is not a comfortable read but I believe that is the intent because it talks about loss and death.
It is not a comfortable read but I believe that is the intent because it talks about loss and death.
December 7, 2019
"Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
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