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Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett
Samuel Beckett's long-standing friend, James Knowlson, recreates Beckett's youth in Ireland, his studies at Trinity College, Dublin in the early 1920s and from there to the Continent, where he plunged into the multicultural literary society of late-1920s Paris. The biography throws new light on Beckett's stormy relationship with his mother, the psychotherapy he received after the death of his father and his crucial relationship with James Joyce. There is also material on Beckett's six-month visit to Germany as the Nazi's tightened their grip.;The book includes unpublished material on Beckett's personal life after he chose to live in France, including his own account of his work for a Resistance cell during the war, his escape from the Gestapo and his retreat into hiding.;Obsessively private, Beckett was wholly committed to the work which eventually brought his public fame, beginning with the controversial success of "Waiting for Godot" in 1953, and culminating in the award of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1969.;James Knowlson is the general editor of "The Theatrical Notebooks of Samuel Beckett".
872 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 57 reviews
January 13, 2014
I thought about reading Samuel Beckett. Then I thought I wouldn’t but instead I would read about him. So now I am writing about reading about him. But before that I was thinking about writing about reading about him. And before that I was thinking about rinse aid. You know, that stuff you have to put inside the dishwasher. Like Live Aid, but this is Rinse Aid. I think we’re running out but I can’t be bothered to check. Beckett would have keenly appreciated both the indolence of my mind and the trivialities that perch upon its branches like irritable ravens. All of this is a far cry from actually reading Samuel Beckett. You might say it’s a series of avoidance strategies. But that’s okay. I’m in favour of avoiding unpleasant tasks. For instance, my nephew is getting married in April. He sent me an invitation – they’re having – wait for it – a pirate themed wedding. And all the guests have to come appropriately attired. You know, peg legs, eye patches, fake parrots, bizarre Cornish accents. Well, not me. That’s one to avoid. The week before, I’ll write back and say I made the mistake of reading Samuel Beckett’s trilogy (Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable) and am now in a light coma. Can’t be waked. I enclose a cheque. Don’t let the sharks getcha. I hope he will not wonder how a person in a light Beckettian coma could be writing a letter.
SAMUEL BECKETT – FROM BOHO DROPOUT TO FREEDOM FIGHTER
He was born in 1906 into a comfy middle-class Irish Prot family and once he attained manhood he was gently shooed into a cushy academic post in Dublin, so after a few months there he just sort of oh what’s the word, resigned. Fuck that. This broke his dear old mama’s heart. He took his tiny paternal allowance and vamoosed to Germany and France and places like that. He befriended James Joyce, like you do, and that became unfortunately awkward because Lucia, Joyce’s daughter, conceived of a passion for him (he was weirdly handsome, got handsomer as he aged, ended up looking like the Silver Eagle of Death) and this was not what he had in mind.
He spent the 30s crawling around, a boho dropout living on red wine and dry crusts and Descartes. His family despaired. Honestly, you would have despaired too. He had cysts and pustules. He paid for sex. But for a profound introvert, he was remarkably sociable. People just liked to have him around not saying anything for five hours straight. During this period he wrote Murphy.
When France was invaded in 1940 his troubles began. You think the previous ten years were poverty stricken. Well, that was the Great Gatsby compared to the 40s. He joined the French resistance. He typed and organised and translated. Then later he did a whole lot of backbreaking potato digging and tree uprooting and shit way out in the cold cold countryside. He was a bit of a hero, like a lot of people in those days. During this period he wrote Watt, even though his bemittened fingers were blue while he was writing, and this book is something even the toughest avant-gardists flinch from and gnash each other’s teeth about. Apparently it’s just too hard.
Then he had five frantic postwar years where he wrote Molloy, Malone Dies and The Unnameable, which are novels, and Waiting for Godot. It was like Dylan recording Bringing it all back Home, Highway 61 Revisited and Blonde on Blonde all within 18 months.
After that he kind of got discovered as the avantist of all gardes, and after you get to the part where he could afford chicken on Sundays the story gets much much much less interesting.
Woman : "Why are you here?"
Man: "I told him a joke and he laughed so he threw me in the bin."
May 1, 2019
I couldn't go on. I went on. I wish I hadn't.
A dry recitation of events with empathy neither for the subject nor the reader. Of interest for the childhood in Dublin and years in the resistance in France, but otherwise a tedious, robotic chronology without wit or anecdote that might provide insight into the specificity of this particular human being. Immensely disappointing and far too long given the absence of any connection. Since this is the authorized biography, perhaps that is what Beckett was hoping for.
A dry recitation of events with empathy neither for the subject nor the reader. Of interest for the childhood in Dublin and years in the resistance in France, but otherwise a tedious, robotic chronology without wit or anecdote that might provide insight into the specificity of this particular human being. Immensely disappointing and far too long given the absence of any connection. Since this is the authorized biography, perhaps that is what Beckett was hoping for.
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October 25, 2022I don't read biographies often, but Beckett is my favorite writer, so this one was a must. Having just finished my second read of this - the first was when I was writing an undergrad thesis on Beckett - I find that it's basically just as I remember it. It's a very no-nonsense biography of a no-nonsense man. Despite being friends with Beckett late in his life, Knowlson avoids hagiography, as well as imposing a narrative arc on Beckett's life. (Given Beckett's avoidance of traditional narrative arcs in his own literary work, this seems quite appropriate.) The most interesting parts of Beckett's life were all in its first half - his struggles to become a writer, his various failed loves, the times of poverty and fear living in hiding with his partner Suzanne during the Nazi occupation of France.
Once Beckett achieves international recognition with Waiting for Godot in early middle age, the biography becomes less interesting to read. In the second half of his life, Beckett mostly sought solitude and peace. Many laundry lists of meetings with friends, productions of his plays, vacations, and physical ailments. The most fascinating parts to read here were accounts of his incredibly demanding style as a director of his own works, and the friendship he formed with Rick Cluchey while the latter was a prisoner in San Quentin Prison, passionate about performing Beckett's works for his fellow inmates.
Lastly, there was a real sadness in reading about Beckett's final years. He spent his whole life imagining old age to be a time when his inner demons would quiet down, so that he could find the peace to write his best work. Instead, his writing slowed down dramatically. While the few works he produced in his 80s - for example, Stirrings Still and "What is the Word" - are brilliant, Beckett realized very quickly that in his dotage he would wind down to a crawl rather than finding the Goethe-like explosion of creativity he'd hoped for. One imagines him very much like his own character of Krapp, dwelling on his regrets in the darkness of the retirement home in which he died. But perhaps that is fitting, and if anyone could be prepared to face such an end, it would have been Beckett.
Once Beckett achieves international recognition with Waiting for Godot in early middle age, the biography becomes less interesting to read. In the second half of his life, Beckett mostly sought solitude and peace. Many laundry lists of meetings with friends, productions of his plays, vacations, and physical ailments. The most fascinating parts to read here were accounts of his incredibly demanding style as a director of his own works, and the friendship he formed with Rick Cluchey while the latter was a prisoner in San Quentin Prison, passionate about performing Beckett's works for his fellow inmates.
Lastly, there was a real sadness in reading about Beckett's final years. He spent his whole life imagining old age to be a time when his inner demons would quiet down, so that he could find the peace to write his best work. Instead, his writing slowed down dramatically. While the few works he produced in his 80s - for example, Stirrings Still and "What is the Word" - are brilliant, Beckett realized very quickly that in his dotage he would wind down to a crawl rather than finding the Goethe-like explosion of creativity he'd hoped for. One imagines him very much like his own character of Krapp, dwelling on his regrets in the darkness of the retirement home in which he died. But perhaps that is fitting, and if anyone could be prepared to face such an end, it would have been Beckett.
August 20, 2012
this is undoubtedly a major work of scholarship, a feat of research thoroughness it's hard to find specific fault with. it's readable and clear. & overall I liked it.
I had a few problems though:
1. This one is strictly a personal issue, but I don't really like biographies that much. I only read this one because I'm super into Beckett as a writer and biographical context sheds a bit of light on his often rather opaque work. As a Beckett scholar of some standing, Knowlson does actually have some interesting and useful things to say here — particularly about music in Beckett's work.
2. When I do get into biographies, it's because they become larger than their subject, shed some light on something outside that subject — the history of a particular time, or the nature of a particular movement. This one didn't really do that. It gave some context to Beckett's work and actions but it was always fundamentally about Beckett.
3. This is a problem because Beckett's life was not that interesting, apart from a brief interlude of wartime excitement. So after that the book kind of cycles through "Beckett is kind of reclusive, then makes a friend, then doesn't always know how to deal with that closeness, then does something generous and kind, then is a dick about other people's interpretations of his work, then chucks a sulk, then mostly gets over it" over and over. Knowlson doesn't seem to know how to develop Beckett's life into a compelling narrative and perhaps does not care to. Despite the lack of day-to-day drama, I think there's actually an interesting story to be told here about Beckett growing the fuck up and getting some goddamn perspective post-WWII — it sounds like he became a much less tortured and arrogant person, and not coincidentally, many find his pre-war writing unbearably smug and his post-war writing transcendent. But that possibility is not explored. Probably because —
4. — the book suffers from Knowlson's personal closeness and loyalty to Beckett. I think he did the best he could to compensate for that but there was still far too much justification of Beckett's occasional dick moves. Nobody cares! Actually, your defensiveness makes me much more hostile to Beckett!
It's still worth checking out if you want biographical context to Beckett's work, but it's really only for the fans.
I had a few problems though:
1. This one is strictly a personal issue, but I don't really like biographies that much. I only read this one because I'm super into Beckett as a writer and biographical context sheds a bit of light on his often rather opaque work. As a Beckett scholar of some standing, Knowlson does actually have some interesting and useful things to say here — particularly about music in Beckett's work.
2. When I do get into biographies, it's because they become larger than their subject, shed some light on something outside that subject — the history of a particular time, or the nature of a particular movement. This one didn't really do that. It gave some context to Beckett's work and actions but it was always fundamentally about Beckett.
3. This is a problem because Beckett's life was not that interesting, apart from a brief interlude of wartime excitement. So after that the book kind of cycles through "Beckett is kind of reclusive, then makes a friend, then doesn't always know how to deal with that closeness, then does something generous and kind, then is a dick about other people's interpretations of his work, then chucks a sulk, then mostly gets over it" over and over. Knowlson doesn't seem to know how to develop Beckett's life into a compelling narrative and perhaps does not care to. Despite the lack of day-to-day drama, I think there's actually an interesting story to be told here about Beckett growing the fuck up and getting some goddamn perspective post-WWII — it sounds like he became a much less tortured and arrogant person, and not coincidentally, many find his pre-war writing unbearably smug and his post-war writing transcendent. But that possibility is not explored. Probably because —
4. — the book suffers from Knowlson's personal closeness and loyalty to Beckett. I think he did the best he could to compensate for that but there was still far too much justification of Beckett's occasional dick moves. Nobody cares! Actually, your defensiveness makes me much more hostile to Beckett!
It's still worth checking out if you want biographical context to Beckett's work, but it's really only for the fans.
February 18, 2015
I am not sure where to start with this. I have spent well over one year going through this biography while trying to keep pace with Beckett’s works as they are presented. This required some re-reads of many of his prose pieces as well as plays.
Sam Beckett is not easy reading. It often (most often) requires contemplation as well as study. I don’t think it is wise to take any of Beckett’s work at first blush. It is often confusing, obscure and is rife with mental tongue-twisters. But when it hits home, it is as rewarding as literature gets. Often, the beauty is in the fact that you can read the work multiple times and get a different reaction each time. In that way, it is infinite.
James Knowlson was the authorized biographer of Samuel Beckett and was intimately familiar with the man (as few were). This is a multifaceted story of a complex, intelligent, generous and very private man. The insight of Knowlson adds a level of illumination and understanding to Beckett’s work that otherwise may be partially if not totally misinterpreted. The biography is also a keen source of Beckett the man; his agoraphobia, psychoanalysis, love of music, infidelities and quest for solitude {solitude is paradise} is well documented here.
I miss Beckett and I was quite sad that this book had to end. During two pilgrimages to Paris I visited some of his old haunts i.e., Closerie des Lilas, Les Deux Magots and the Select, and visited his gravesite at Montparnasse which only make me miss him more. Sam Beckett was a beautiful man.
I have not read a tremendous amount of biographies, but this is far and away the best that I have read. Beckett was a 20th century man and a talent of magnitude. If you have more than a passing interest in Samuel Beckett, this cannot be missed. Easy five stars.
Sam Beckett is not easy reading. It often (most often) requires contemplation as well as study. I don’t think it is wise to take any of Beckett’s work at first blush. It is often confusing, obscure and is rife with mental tongue-twisters. But when it hits home, it is as rewarding as literature gets. Often, the beauty is in the fact that you can read the work multiple times and get a different reaction each time. In that way, it is infinite.
James Knowlson was the authorized biographer of Samuel Beckett and was intimately familiar with the man (as few were). This is a multifaceted story of a complex, intelligent, generous and very private man. The insight of Knowlson adds a level of illumination and understanding to Beckett’s work that otherwise may be partially if not totally misinterpreted. The biography is also a keen source of Beckett the man; his agoraphobia, psychoanalysis, love of music, infidelities and quest for solitude {solitude is paradise} is well documented here.
I miss Beckett and I was quite sad that this book had to end. During two pilgrimages to Paris I visited some of his old haunts i.e., Closerie des Lilas, Les Deux Magots and the Select, and visited his gravesite at Montparnasse which only make me miss him more. Sam Beckett was a beautiful man.
I have not read a tremendous amount of biographies, but this is far and away the best that I have read. Beckett was a 20th century man and a talent of magnitude. If you have more than a passing interest in Samuel Beckett, this cannot be missed. Easy five stars.
June 17, 2017
Одна из лучших биографий всех времен и народов (не только нами признано — ну и да, худшего нам не надо). Ноулсон начинал как литературовед, а одним из условий Бекетта было то, что он авторизует свою био, только если автор ее будет хорошо разбираться в его работах — и Ноулсон этому условию просоответствовал. Да и 20 лет разговоров с самим Бекеттом не помешали. Прекрасная пара к Эллмановой био Джойса.
Исходя из текстов самого Бекетта, возникает ощущение, что он жил в некоем вакууме, на своем нобелевском олимпе, ни с кем не общаясь и стремясь только к «сокращению, вычеркиванию и ухудшению». Так-то оно так, но лишь до некоторой степени. Ноулсон скрупулезно хронометрирует все его путешествия (иногда вполне лихорадочные) по Европе и некоторым другим частям света, запутанную личную жизнь и исчерпывающе описывает всю нейросеть дружеских и родственных связей. При этом тщательно сверяя все с перепиской и личными календарями. Но в простоте и обычности своей жизнь его приблизилась к настоящей святости — и это среди суетливого Парижа и осмысленной активности вплоть до последних месяцев, а не в каком-нибудь горном святилище. И не считая того, что он сам был практически свят в своей доброте. (А последние страницы книги натурально разбивают сердце.)
Ну и да — это еще были те времена (видимо, последние), когда театр еще был искусством, к нему еще можно было относиться всерьез и по-настоящему его любить. Это важно. Потому что во внешнем своем проявлении именно в театре Бекетт был подлинным господом богом.
Исходя из текстов самого Бекетта, возникает ощущение, что он жил в некоем вакууме, на своем нобелевском олимпе, ни с кем не общаясь и стремясь только к «сокращению, вычеркиванию и ухудшению». Так-то оно так, но лишь до некоторой степени. Ноулсон скрупулезно хронометрирует все его путешествия (иногда вполне лихорадочные) по Европе и некоторым другим частям света, запутанную личную жизнь и исчерпывающе описывает всю нейросеть дружеских и родственных связей. При этом тщательно сверяя все с перепиской и личными календарями. Но в простоте и обычности своей жизнь его приблизилась к настоящей святости — и это среди суетливого Парижа и осмысленной активности вплоть до последних месяцев, а не в каком-нибудь горном святилище. И не считая того, что он сам был практически свят в своей доброте. (А последние страницы книги натурально разбивают сердце.)
Ну и да — это еще были те времена (видимо, последние), когда театр еще был искусством, к нему еще можно было относиться всерьез и по-настоящему его любить. Это важно. Потому что во внешнем своем проявлении именно в театре Бекетт был подлинным господом богом.
November 14, 2012
Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett
For anyone interested in the writing of Samuel Beckett I would recommend this as essential reading. When I started this book I was reading Molloy and frankly having some difficulty in getting past half way mark. I decided to read this biography with the hope that it would open up some of the density of Molloy and make sure I was on the right track. Reading Samuel Beckett’s work constantly requires self-questioning ……”Do I understand what is happening, what is being said, what does it mean, what does the writer mean?” At some point I stopped reading Molly with the idea “I am going to finish it but not right now” I gave all my attention to the biography and I am glad I did so as this is an important work that in a slow and deliberate and I feel unknowing fashion opens up the enigma that is Samuel Beckett. It’s a long book but rarely have I read such a dense volume that I looked forward to every page and regretted coming to the end. James Knowlson disappears and one never gets the impression that any personal judgments are being propagated, one comes away from the book with one overriding feeling that biographer not only managed to get close to one of the most private writers of the 20th century but above all he understood him.The intimacy and connection which he had with Beckett in such a momentous biography is indeed rare.
Why we search for understanding and placation of our doubt in our understanding of a writer by seeking to know the author is not a new phenomenon. Recently reading of Christopher Marlow’s life the author asked the question can we know an author simply from his work, is Shakespeare in all his plays, is Marlow a saint or a sinner in reading “Faustus” or “Tamburlaine”? People have been asking this of the two aforementioned authors since the 1600’s. I can emphatically state that Samuel Beckett the man, inhabits his work probably more than any other modernist writer. His shyness, his generosity of spirit, his tenderness, his Dublinness (more than Irishness), his need (like Joyce) to spread his wings from a suffocating and stifling Ireland is in “Godot” and “Krapp” and its in that we see the humour and humanity of the wonderfully complex introvert that was Samuel Beckett. This book succeeded for me more than I could imagine. Samuel’s prewar trip through Germany was a pivotal period in his life not in writing but in observation of life and art. It was in one of the dozens of galleries in Germany that he explored art of various ages, but he was not adverse to his criticism of what he considered good art. In one of those galleries in Dresden’s (State Gallery) he saw on the wall a painting of two male convivial figures standing on a lonely road watching a full moon. There is a further character in the painting which is an old tree that seems to have a desire to lean into the pair on the path and become one with them and their musings; the painting is by Caspar David Friedrich and is called "Two Men Observing the Moon" and years later after the war and the horror he witnessed in France he wrote a play about two old friends standing on a lonely road beside an old tree and it would become “Waiting for Godot” and the theatre would never be the same. Those two lonely joined at the hip tramps waiting for what? They stand in a desolate landscape with nature represented by a single lonely tree that appears to be also waiting, by reading this book I can understand Samuel Beckett’s waiting or is it longing; an understanding of life but more an acceptance of life in its most mundane form and future. As Beckett says through Krapp in “Krapp's Last Tape”….. “Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.” Thanks Sam!!
For anyone interested in the writing of Samuel Beckett I would recommend this as essential reading. When I started this book I was reading Molloy and frankly having some difficulty in getting past half way mark. I decided to read this biography with the hope that it would open up some of the density of Molloy and make sure I was on the right track. Reading Samuel Beckett’s work constantly requires self-questioning ……”Do I understand what is happening, what is being said, what does it mean, what does the writer mean?” At some point I stopped reading Molly with the idea “I am going to finish it but not right now” I gave all my attention to the biography and I am glad I did so as this is an important work that in a slow and deliberate and I feel unknowing fashion opens up the enigma that is Samuel Beckett. It’s a long book but rarely have I read such a dense volume that I looked forward to every page and regretted coming to the end. James Knowlson disappears and one never gets the impression that any personal judgments are being propagated, one comes away from the book with one overriding feeling that biographer not only managed to get close to one of the most private writers of the 20th century but above all he understood him.The intimacy and connection which he had with Beckett in such a momentous biography is indeed rare.
Why we search for understanding and placation of our doubt in our understanding of a writer by seeking to know the author is not a new phenomenon. Recently reading of Christopher Marlow’s life the author asked the question can we know an author simply from his work, is Shakespeare in all his plays, is Marlow a saint or a sinner in reading “Faustus” or “Tamburlaine”? People have been asking this of the two aforementioned authors since the 1600’s. I can emphatically state that Samuel Beckett the man, inhabits his work probably more than any other modernist writer. His shyness, his generosity of spirit, his tenderness, his Dublinness (more than Irishness), his need (like Joyce) to spread his wings from a suffocating and stifling Ireland is in “Godot” and “Krapp” and its in that we see the humour and humanity of the wonderfully complex introvert that was Samuel Beckett. This book succeeded for me more than I could imagine. Samuel’s prewar trip through Germany was a pivotal period in his life not in writing but in observation of life and art. It was in one of the dozens of galleries in Germany that he explored art of various ages, but he was not adverse to his criticism of what he considered good art. In one of those galleries in Dresden’s (State Gallery) he saw on the wall a painting of two male convivial figures standing on a lonely road watching a full moon. There is a further character in the painting which is an old tree that seems to have a desire to lean into the pair on the path and become one with them and their musings; the painting is by Caspar David Friedrich and is called "Two Men Observing the Moon" and years later after the war and the horror he witnessed in France he wrote a play about two old friends standing on a lonely road beside an old tree and it would become “Waiting for Godot” and the theatre would never be the same. Those two lonely joined at the hip tramps waiting for what? They stand in a desolate landscape with nature represented by a single lonely tree that appears to be also waiting, by reading this book I can understand Samuel Beckett’s waiting or is it longing; an understanding of life but more an acceptance of life in its most mundane form and future. As Beckett says through Krapp in “Krapp's Last Tape”….. “Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back.” Thanks Sam!!
July 9, 2015
I should start by saying I love Beckett (I'm writing a portion of my dissertation on him) and I love biographies. But as a read, this biography just didn't do it for me. It is very informative (indeed almost overwhelming in its detail--very little curating of information here), but as a narrative it is not particularly well-shaped or compelling, except for the portion about Beckett's life during the war-time years, which was a page-turner. Perhaps creating an engaging biography was not Knowlson's aim. He gives us the facts of Beckett's life, detailing exhaustively with the works themselves, particularly production after production of various plays. And he gives us a sense of who Beckett was (and often apologizing for Beckett's behavior--Knowlson knew him well, and that perhaps worked against him as a biographer). But the biography, which has the capacity to be very interesting, never comes alive as a story and often devolves into tedium. And some aspects of Beckett's life--such as his long relationship with Suzanne--are frustratingly undeveloped. If you compare this text with a thoughtfully-composed biography like Hermione Lee's study of Virginia Woolf, you can clearly see where this one falls short.
Want to read
July 10, 2014I don't know whether to read this one or Bair's, but I sure as hell ain't reading both. GR community, I beg of you, tell me what to do! Decisions are so hard!
September 12, 2018
Uninspired is probably the best way to describe the book. It does give a detailed account of Beckett’s compositions and productions, but it reads like an encyclopedic accounting of happenings in Beckett’s life with little to no contextual depth. Given that the book is prefaced by Beckett’s own words asserting that his works have little to do with his life, the fact that his life is recounted in relation to his works seems misguided. In fact, the biography could probably be reduced by 200 pages simply by taking out the repetitive doldrum recounting of Beckett’s various vacations and toothaches. If anything, Beckett’s writings express how a life is more than the sum of its parts but that is really all we get out of this biography. The author misses various opportunities to explore Beckett’s inner life by glossing over his relations with inspired prisoners, breakdowns of actors, and each personal death is recounted in the same impersonal manner till it becomes tedious (and not in the terms of Beckett’s aesthetic).
Read
December 12, 2012'Suicide represented for him an unacceptable kind of surrender: a surprising attitude, perhaps, in one who held such a sombre view of human existence but one that was as integral to him as this dark assessment itself. This need to see life stoically through - whether it be tragedy or farce - to a natural end derived partly from his Protestant legacy. But it also came from a firm personal determination to go on, refusing stubbornly to give in.'
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January 6, 2015
"There is nothing to express, nothing with which to express, nothing from which to express, no power to express, no desire to express, together with the obligation to express".
Molto semplicemente, credo di essermi innamorata di Samuel Beckett. Con tutti gli inconvenienti che un amore a distanza (nel tempo oltre che nello spazio) comporta. Scriverò qualche parola nei giorni a venire: adesso tutte mi falliscono.
Molto semplicemente, credo di essermi innamorata di Samuel Beckett. Con tutti gli inconvenienti che un amore a distanza (nel tempo oltre che nello spazio) comporta. Scriverò qualche parola nei giorni a venire: adesso tutte mi falliscono.
December 15, 2016
Exhaustive and worthwhile, but often a grind.
December 23, 2018
Samuel Beckett was a very private man during his life, who rarely gave interviews and wanted his work to speak for himself. In his final years, however, he acquiesced to an authorized biography being written about him, and he chose scholar James Knowlson for this. Knowlson not only got Beckett’s permission to trawl documentation of his past, Beckett even sat down with him for several hours of interviews. The result was finally completed several years after Beckett’s death in 1989, which means that Knowlson could be slightly more probing than is typical of “authorized biographies” published while their subjects are still alive.
Besides the interviews with Beckett, touching on childhood memories, Knowlson mainly drew on Beckett’s voluminous correspondence (or on correspondence between Beckett’s friends and acquaintances) to determine what Beckett was up to when. For the earlier part of Beckett’s life, this reveals to us many events and relationships that were formative for Beckett and even found a place in his works, whether overt or camouflaged. Also well documented are the various health problems that Beckett suffered from a young age, which explains how his work is more rooted in the body and its quirks (even down to toilet humour) than many other modernists.
Like some other readers, I found the high point of the book to perhaps be the account of Beckett’s activities during World War II, first as a member of the French Resistance, and then a long exile in the countryside waiting for the war to end. While on one hand these might be called dull, lost years, on the other hand one gets an idea of how they could serve as a crossroads for Beckett’s writing, with the postwar works being so radically different than the somewhat imitations of Joyce from the 1930s.
Knowlson’s biography unfortunately tends to become rather dry just as Beckett’s career is really taking off with the premiere of Waiting for Godot in the early 1950s. From here on, the biography is mainly about his travels to foreign theaters presenting his works or his holidays with his companion Suzanne Dechevaux-Dumesnil. Yet even here there are enough scattered details that give one a better picture of the man to make it worth reading to the end. Knowlson reveals that Beckett was extremely generous with money, content to live on fairly little and directing his huge earnings from the plays towards family, friends, or even mere acquaintances who needed help.
Readers looking for a more penetrative account of Beckett’s private life will have to look elsewhere. Knowlson mentions how Beckett’s relationship with Dechevaux-Dumesnil was rather open and he maintained a long relationship with Barbara Bray, but this does not get much space. Still, for fans of the plays, novels, and poetry who just want to know about the life of the man who wrote them, this is a decent starting point even if it gets very dry.
Besides the interviews with Beckett, touching on childhood memories, Knowlson mainly drew on Beckett’s voluminous correspondence (or on correspondence between Beckett’s friends and acquaintances) to determine what Beckett was up to when. For the earlier part of Beckett’s life, this reveals to us many events and relationships that were formative for Beckett and even found a place in his works, whether overt or camouflaged. Also well documented are the various health problems that Beckett suffered from a young age, which explains how his work is more rooted in the body and its quirks (even down to toilet humour) than many other modernists.
Like some other readers, I found the high point of the book to perhaps be the account of Beckett’s activities during World War II, first as a member of the French Resistance, and then a long exile in the countryside waiting for the war to end. While on one hand these might be called dull, lost years, on the other hand one gets an idea of how they could serve as a crossroads for Beckett’s writing, with the postwar works being so radically different than the somewhat imitations of Joyce from the 1930s.
Knowlson’s biography unfortunately tends to become rather dry just as Beckett’s career is really taking off with the premiere of Waiting for Godot in the early 1950s. From here on, the biography is mainly about his travels to foreign theaters presenting his works or his holidays with his companion Suzanne Dechevaux-Dumesnil. Yet even here there are enough scattered details that give one a better picture of the man to make it worth reading to the end. Knowlson reveals that Beckett was extremely generous with money, content to live on fairly little and directing his huge earnings from the plays towards family, friends, or even mere acquaintances who needed help.
Readers looking for a more penetrative account of Beckett’s private life will have to look elsewhere. Knowlson mentions how Beckett’s relationship with Dechevaux-Dumesnil was rather open and he maintained a long relationship with Barbara Bray, but this does not get much space. Still, for fans of the plays, novels, and poetry who just want to know about the life of the man who wrote them, this is a decent starting point even if it gets very dry.
October 24, 2020
The story told in the first half of James Knowlson’s excellent biography is thrilling and fascinating. Samuel Beckett as a young and middle-aged man was devoted to writing and to world culture, reading like crazy, attending concerts, haunting museums to look at art—he spent two years in Germany doing little else—and making almost no money. He didn’t seem to care. He did a thoroughgoing psychoanalysis for two years, then went through the hell of World War Two in France, working for the resistance initially and then, once he’d been discovered, doing everything he could to flee the Nazis.
At the end of that time he had a sudden realization about his work, seeing that his real subject was the depression and impotence that he’d thought he was struggling against. In a burst of creativity, he produced the work that he’s best known for, the Three Novels Molloy, Malone Dies, and The Unnamable, and Waiting for Godot. The novels were not exactly bestsellers, but companies all over Europe began producing Godot and it eventually made him famous. The proceeds from that play, along with an inheritance from his mother, made him financially secure. And the second half of his life began, culminating in 1969 with the Nobel Prize for Literature.
I have to say that, though Knowlson continued his admirably detailed and beautifully written account of Beckett’s life, I found the second half of the book less interesting than the first and ultimately rather depressing. For one thing, this man who had been so devoted to writing and the arts in general was suddenly traveling around Europe, and ultimately the whole world, overseeing productions and sometimes directing them. Beckett not only considered the words of his plays important, but also the pacing, the way actors said the lines, the way they moved or didn’t move on the stage. The expression control freak comes to mind, though perhaps that isn’t fair. But this essentially introverted and contemplative man—to say the very least—suddenly had a public role, which he was called on to play more and more. He seemed unable to resist it, but it wasn’t good for his health or his creative juices. He’d always had a thing for booze, but tended when he was away to drink quite heavily, and he also had assignations with women other than his wife (who was more averse to the acclaim than he was, and rarely traveled with him).
These problems reached a crescendo when he won the Nobel Prize, a moment when he tried to stay in seclusion and didn’t accept the award in person. But he had years of living left, and the portrait Knowlson paints is of a man who is run ragged by his success, an introvert who is forced by circumstances to live like an extrovert (and too often used booze to ease the pain).
I haven’t read Beckett’s later work, only the Three Novels and the two most famous plays, Godot and Endgame. Knowlson has an enormous knowledge of Beckett’s work, and lets us know that there are masterpieces in the later and often shorter work. Beckett was happiest when he was writing, but the later work came out in tormented periods of solitude when he complained constantly that he wasn’t getting enough done (not an uncommon complaint for a writer. I’ve actually never met a writer who did think she was getting enough done). When your big subjects are ignorance and impotence, the work comes slowly.
At one point during this immense reading experience I reread Lawrence Shainberg’s Four Men Shaking, a short memoir about his acquaintance with three men who had a huge influence on him, Beckett, Norman Mailer, and his longtime Zen teacher, Kyudo Nakagawa Roshi. Three men more different from each other it would be hard to imagine.
Shainberg was a lifelong admirer of Beckett, who seemed to embody in his work many things Zen teaches. Shainberg routinely sent Beckett his work as it came out, and when he wrote a nonfiction book called Brain Surgeon, to his astonishment, he got a short note in reply. Shainberg was heading to Europe to publicize his book and arranged to meet Beckett there. As various people have said, the Nobel Prize winner was modest and self-effacing in person, interested in Shainberg and in Zen, though he repeatedly denied any knowledge of it or any intentional relationship between his work and Zen teachings. He was also completely candid; when Shainberg brought a novel manuscript on one visit, Beckett read it immediately and told him, unfortunately, that he didn’t think the book worked and that the novel wasn’t his form (though the book was later published as Memories of Amnesia). Beckett seemed sharp and completely with it, and the year was 1979, ten years after his Nobel.
Shainberg met Mailer when he sought out—and received—a blurb for his wonderful book, Ambivalent Zen. Both men had houses in Provincetown, and the garrulous Mailer—who seemed more extrovert than introvert—subsequently often asked Shainberg out for dinner. And though Mailer definitely had his public side when he was younger, going on TV and acting out in public and running for Mayor of New York, as an older man he devoted himself to work, having a long slow start to his day but eventually heading up to his attic to write. He was a completely different writer from Beckett, a putter inner rather than a taker outer, and didn’t much like Beckett’s work. Mailer’s own work varies in quality (as is true for anyone who published 37 books. I think that’s the number Shainberg mentioned). But as a strategy for leading a life, I would have to say that Mailer’s seemed better. He loved and embraced life, and was still hobbling up to his attic to write the last time Shainberg had dinner with him, when Mailer was over 80 and showed up with two canes to get around.
The third man in Shainberg’s book is the one I would regard as the sanest, Kyudo Roshi. He is portrayed much more fully in Ambivalent Zen; the portrait here essentially catches up on a character who had been so vivid in the previous book. He hasn’t changed much, comes back to New York once a year and runs the zendo exactly as he had before, showing up early for zazen even on the first evening and cleaning and taking care of the place as he always had. He never wrote a book and didn’t care how many people heard his teaching, only had maybe a dozen American students even after Ambivalent Zen had been published. He preferred a small group of sincere people (and he’d be the judge of sincerity). His teachings never changed much either.
Beckett was one of the bravest writers who ever lived. He wrote from the essential emptiness of life—whether he called it Zen or not—and faced it squarely; I don’t know of another writer who stayed with it so well. (If you don’t believe me, read any of the Three Novels and give me a plot summary. Good luck with that.) But I’m not sure his strategy for living was the best, or that he needed to suffer as much as he did. I kept thinking as I read the 600 closely written pages of Knowlson’s book: if anyone would have profited from Zen practice, and from hanging around someone like Kyudo Roshi, it would have been this guy. He might have felt less alone. But maybe alone was how he wanted to feel.
www.davidguy.org
At the end of that time he had a sudden realization about his work, seeing that his real subject was the depression and impotence that he’d thought he was struggling against. In a burst of creativity, he produced the work that he’s best known for, the Three Novels Molloy, Malone Dies, and The Unnamable, and Waiting for Godot. The novels were not exactly bestsellers, but companies all over Europe began producing Godot and it eventually made him famous. The proceeds from that play, along with an inheritance from his mother, made him financially secure. And the second half of his life began, culminating in 1969 with the Nobel Prize for Literature.
I have to say that, though Knowlson continued his admirably detailed and beautifully written account of Beckett’s life, I found the second half of the book less interesting than the first and ultimately rather depressing. For one thing, this man who had been so devoted to writing and the arts in general was suddenly traveling around Europe, and ultimately the whole world, overseeing productions and sometimes directing them. Beckett not only considered the words of his plays important, but also the pacing, the way actors said the lines, the way they moved or didn’t move on the stage. The expression control freak comes to mind, though perhaps that isn’t fair. But this essentially introverted and contemplative man—to say the very least—suddenly had a public role, which he was called on to play more and more. He seemed unable to resist it, but it wasn’t good for his health or his creative juices. He’d always had a thing for booze, but tended when he was away to drink quite heavily, and he also had assignations with women other than his wife (who was more averse to the acclaim than he was, and rarely traveled with him).
These problems reached a crescendo when he won the Nobel Prize, a moment when he tried to stay in seclusion and didn’t accept the award in person. But he had years of living left, and the portrait Knowlson paints is of a man who is run ragged by his success, an introvert who is forced by circumstances to live like an extrovert (and too often used booze to ease the pain).
I haven’t read Beckett’s later work, only the Three Novels and the two most famous plays, Godot and Endgame. Knowlson has an enormous knowledge of Beckett’s work, and lets us know that there are masterpieces in the later and often shorter work. Beckett was happiest when he was writing, but the later work came out in tormented periods of solitude when he complained constantly that he wasn’t getting enough done (not an uncommon complaint for a writer. I’ve actually never met a writer who did think she was getting enough done). When your big subjects are ignorance and impotence, the work comes slowly.
At one point during this immense reading experience I reread Lawrence Shainberg’s Four Men Shaking, a short memoir about his acquaintance with three men who had a huge influence on him, Beckett, Norman Mailer, and his longtime Zen teacher, Kyudo Nakagawa Roshi. Three men more different from each other it would be hard to imagine.
Shainberg was a lifelong admirer of Beckett, who seemed to embody in his work many things Zen teaches. Shainberg routinely sent Beckett his work as it came out, and when he wrote a nonfiction book called Brain Surgeon, to his astonishment, he got a short note in reply. Shainberg was heading to Europe to publicize his book and arranged to meet Beckett there. As various people have said, the Nobel Prize winner was modest and self-effacing in person, interested in Shainberg and in Zen, though he repeatedly denied any knowledge of it or any intentional relationship between his work and Zen teachings. He was also completely candid; when Shainberg brought a novel manuscript on one visit, Beckett read it immediately and told him, unfortunately, that he didn’t think the book worked and that the novel wasn’t his form (though the book was later published as Memories of Amnesia). Beckett seemed sharp and completely with it, and the year was 1979, ten years after his Nobel.
Shainberg met Mailer when he sought out—and received—a blurb for his wonderful book, Ambivalent Zen. Both men had houses in Provincetown, and the garrulous Mailer—who seemed more extrovert than introvert—subsequently often asked Shainberg out for dinner. And though Mailer definitely had his public side when he was younger, going on TV and acting out in public and running for Mayor of New York, as an older man he devoted himself to work, having a long slow start to his day but eventually heading up to his attic to write. He was a completely different writer from Beckett, a putter inner rather than a taker outer, and didn’t much like Beckett’s work. Mailer’s own work varies in quality (as is true for anyone who published 37 books. I think that’s the number Shainberg mentioned). But as a strategy for leading a life, I would have to say that Mailer’s seemed better. He loved and embraced life, and was still hobbling up to his attic to write the last time Shainberg had dinner with him, when Mailer was over 80 and showed up with two canes to get around.
The third man in Shainberg’s book is the one I would regard as the sanest, Kyudo Roshi. He is portrayed much more fully in Ambivalent Zen; the portrait here essentially catches up on a character who had been so vivid in the previous book. He hasn’t changed much, comes back to New York once a year and runs the zendo exactly as he had before, showing up early for zazen even on the first evening and cleaning and taking care of the place as he always had. He never wrote a book and didn’t care how many people heard his teaching, only had maybe a dozen American students even after Ambivalent Zen had been published. He preferred a small group of sincere people (and he’d be the judge of sincerity). His teachings never changed much either.
Beckett was one of the bravest writers who ever lived. He wrote from the essential emptiness of life—whether he called it Zen or not—and faced it squarely; I don’t know of another writer who stayed with it so well. (If you don’t believe me, read any of the Three Novels and give me a plot summary. Good luck with that.) But I’m not sure his strategy for living was the best, or that he needed to suffer as much as he did. I kept thinking as I read the 600 closely written pages of Knowlson’s book: if anyone would have profited from Zen practice, and from hanging around someone like Kyudo Roshi, it would have been this guy. He might have felt less alone. But maybe alone was how he wanted to feel.
www.davidguy.org
January 26, 2020
Exhausting but great! There's a fine irony in the fact that I read an 800-page biography about a guy who wrote 15-page long plays but I chose not to see it.
July 31, 2019
James Knowlson created a masterpiece with this enormous amount of facts & stories. Sometimes I was bored when he described the many stages of how Samuel Beckett's plays during many periods in his live were treated before the final performance came alive. I also find it hard to read that although mister Beckett's talent for languages was splendid, he lost a lot of his time translating them all by himself in other languages. He was strict in it while he wanted them to be translated as perfect as good be. In the end I can only say I really enjoyed this biography very much.
December 21, 2008
A very detailed account of Beckett's life. It is so detailed in fact that many would find a great deal of it boring. I, however, enjoyed reading all the mundane details - it's just the truth, and it keeps you from romanticizing and fantasizing about a famous writer's life, like so many people tend to do, when you are presented with all the boring minutia.
Beckett had a privileged upbringing and the book goes into the details of life for a bourgeois Irish family of the time period and what was expected of male children in such families - academic and athletic accomplishment in youth followed by a life spent working in a dependable profession. Beckett, rather, drifts into academia and then falls out of that to become an unemployed, aspiring writer who can't get published. Lucky for him, he had a wealthy mom and dad to supply him with an allowance. I bet all aspiring artists wish they had an allowance so they could work all day on their art instead of dealing with working to pay the bills. You occasionally get the feeling that the author worships Beckett too much, he seems to take his side when the guy hits his mom up for more cash and to feel sorry for his "meager" living conditions that could be fixed by taking a soul-sucking job as well as the persistent health problems he encounters as a result of his smoking and drinking habits. Beckett eventually makes it through the war, which involves a close call when a resistance cell he translates documents for is ratted out and he has to sneak out of occupied France into Vichy France. After the war he takes a job at a hospital for a little while, and finally his life's calling starts to work out for him as publishers begin accepting his work more frequently and he finds enormous success with Waiting For Godot. Once successful as writer, Beckett proves himself to be really dedicated to his art as he trots around Europe and the world, overseeing productions of his work and continuing to write and to translate his own work in his spare time. He continues to push the boundaries of dramatic art, coming up with new and interesting ideas until the end of his life.
This book is definitely not a substitute for reading Beckett's work, but it is an interesting supplement, and it made me aware of works I did not know about that sound like they would be interesting. The book describes several short pieces he wrote later in his career, after his most famous works, that are very intricate and unusual. In this book there is a lot of discussion about great paintings, Beckett's study of them and how his lifelong interest in art and art criticism affected his work. It was also interesting to read about how detailed his vision of his work was and how different directors and actors succeeded or failed at presenting his work, as well as how he himself directed his own plays.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in Beckett, literature or theatre (or radio, tv or film, since Beckett did works for these media as well). You don't have to read it cover to cover, but you would definitely want to read most of what is written starting from his very prolific period of writing that occurred in the few years before he found success with Waiting for Godot until the end.
Beckett had a privileged upbringing and the book goes into the details of life for a bourgeois Irish family of the time period and what was expected of male children in such families - academic and athletic accomplishment in youth followed by a life spent working in a dependable profession. Beckett, rather, drifts into academia and then falls out of that to become an unemployed, aspiring writer who can't get published. Lucky for him, he had a wealthy mom and dad to supply him with an allowance. I bet all aspiring artists wish they had an allowance so they could work all day on their art instead of dealing with working to pay the bills. You occasionally get the feeling that the author worships Beckett too much, he seems to take his side when the guy hits his mom up for more cash and to feel sorry for his "meager" living conditions that could be fixed by taking a soul-sucking job as well as the persistent health problems he encounters as a result of his smoking and drinking habits. Beckett eventually makes it through the war, which involves a close call when a resistance cell he translates documents for is ratted out and he has to sneak out of occupied France into Vichy France. After the war he takes a job at a hospital for a little while, and finally his life's calling starts to work out for him as publishers begin accepting his work more frequently and he finds enormous success with Waiting For Godot. Once successful as writer, Beckett proves himself to be really dedicated to his art as he trots around Europe and the world, overseeing productions of his work and continuing to write and to translate his own work in his spare time. He continues to push the boundaries of dramatic art, coming up with new and interesting ideas until the end of his life.
This book is definitely not a substitute for reading Beckett's work, but it is an interesting supplement, and it made me aware of works I did not know about that sound like they would be interesting. The book describes several short pieces he wrote later in his career, after his most famous works, that are very intricate and unusual. In this book there is a lot of discussion about great paintings, Beckett's study of them and how his lifelong interest in art and art criticism affected his work. It was also interesting to read about how detailed his vision of his work was and how different directors and actors succeeded or failed at presenting his work, as well as how he himself directed his own plays.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in Beckett, literature or theatre (or radio, tv or film, since Beckett did works for these media as well). You don't have to read it cover to cover, but you would definitely want to read most of what is written starting from his very prolific period of writing that occurred in the few years before he found success with Waiting for Godot until the end.
July 20, 2014
Now I know what Beckett's favorite whiskey was (Jameson). I know what his second favorite whiskey was as well (Tullamore Dew). James Knowlson's biography is the only one approved by Samuel Beckett himself and probably the only one you really need if you want to know anything about the reluctant Nobel laureate. Beckett told Knowlson that because he probably knew his work more than anyone, he should write his biography.
Beckett wouldn't live to see its completion, but after reading "Damned to Fame" one wonders if he would have approved. The Beckett that emerges from these pages is a highly critical man, especially critical of those who would read "meaning" into his work. Actors playing Beckett characters often demanded that he tell them the meaning behind his texts. He would snort derisively and tell them that he didn't know himself; everything he knew about the characters was there on the page. There was nothing else.
I read this book in the hopes of getting a better understanding of Beckett's work. I've been working my way through his famous trilogy and was so intimidated by The Unnameable, that I thought this book would help. Funny that. Knowlson goes deep into Dream of Fair to Middling Women, Watt, Godot, Happy Days, Murphy, Molloy, Malone Dies and a few others but only mentions The Unnamable twice, devoting only a few sentences to it. So I'll have to wade into the final book in the trilogy armed only with those two sentences and 600 pages of biographical material wedged between my ears.
No matter. Now I know that Beckett worked for the French resistance during WWII and just missed getting captured by the Gestapo. I know that he had bad teeth. Very bad teeth. I know that he enjoyed reading "The Catcher in the Rye," saying that it was one of the finest novels he'd read in a long time. I know that he was meticulous about the production of his plays, demanding that the stage directions be followed to the letter, and that the actors shouldn't bring too much characterization to their roles. I know more about Beckett than I ever have. I know this will help me as I read his work. I just don't know how. Not yet, anyway.
Beckett wouldn't live to see its completion, but after reading "Damned to Fame" one wonders if he would have approved. The Beckett that emerges from these pages is a highly critical man, especially critical of those who would read "meaning" into his work. Actors playing Beckett characters often demanded that he tell them the meaning behind his texts. He would snort derisively and tell them that he didn't know himself; everything he knew about the characters was there on the page. There was nothing else.
I read this book in the hopes of getting a better understanding of Beckett's work. I've been working my way through his famous trilogy and was so intimidated by The Unnameable, that I thought this book would help. Funny that. Knowlson goes deep into Dream of Fair to Middling Women, Watt, Godot, Happy Days, Murphy, Molloy, Malone Dies and a few others but only mentions The Unnamable twice, devoting only a few sentences to it. So I'll have to wade into the final book in the trilogy armed only with those two sentences and 600 pages of biographical material wedged between my ears.
No matter. Now I know that Beckett worked for the French resistance during WWII and just missed getting captured by the Gestapo. I know that he had bad teeth. Very bad teeth. I know that he enjoyed reading "The Catcher in the Rye," saying that it was one of the finest novels he'd read in a long time. I know that he was meticulous about the production of his plays, demanding that the stage directions be followed to the letter, and that the actors shouldn't bring too much characterization to their roles. I know more about Beckett than I ever have. I know this will help me as I read his work. I just don't know how. Not yet, anyway.
April 3, 2018
being personally chosen by Beckett to write this bio, and having read it, one is left to wonder at the ultimate veracity of the tome... unfair maybe, but when a bio is "curated" by a literary giant's friend it is easy to understand how what is written should and must be complimentary at least, and laudatory at best, as to its subject... who is the "real" Beckett? intensely private, mostly... i find it funny when people who know/knew Beckett will claim he is/was "not the man people thought he is/was"... well, when what people think/know of someone as private and insular as Beckett is managed by him and/or his coterie of friends and fellow writers and artists, what does it mean "not who we think he is" since they are the ones telling us who he is? if you're keeping the "real" Beckett to yourselves, then surely untruths and misconceptions and misreadings will abound... i found this bio a bit cushy, too friendly probably... scads of info and interviews and documented la-di-da, which was cool in a historical way, Beckett being dead and all that, but much of Beckett's popularity is because of his unrelateableness (not a word) or his unfathomableness (thought that was a word) but mostly his thoroughly Beckettsian (dammit all! that's a word!) writing style... chock full of info, but lacking in life, fitting as its subject is also lacking in life (dead, ya see?)... knowing more about Beckett is interesting, but i balk at any assumption acquiring biographical facts will make his writing more understandable or parsable... read Beckett, read him again, and then again then... his work won't (can't?) be improved by knowing him better, though it makes for a fun tale...
February 18, 2024
Knowlson begins his biography of Samuel Beckett by claiming that Beckett was connected with the political, that Beckett lived an intense private life, and that his work surely was connected to his life for its reverence for the commonplace.
It is nice that Knowlson has gone this route thus far, because I do believe that Beckett was a man who loved people first and foremost, and that even his most avant-garde writing cherished simplicity and the very Essence of Being.
One point to make is the difference between this biography of Beckett and Richard Ellmann's biography of James Joyce. Ellmann begins with an astounding executive summary of his work that makes you really want to read not just the biography, but ALL of Joyce's work. Knowlson opts for a less dramatic, ostentatious opener, instead trying to be matter of fact, dispelling misconceptions, claiming Beckett to be what he in fact, was. Perhaps that tone is for the difference between the authors: Joyce the maximalist and Beckett the minimalist. Two opposite but kindred approaches.
****
The biography then gets into the details of his family history, painting Beckett's influences from an early age, as well as a pre-history of the author in how his ancestors even influenced him down the chain of lineage.
It is nice that Knowlson has gone this route thus far, because I do believe that Beckett was a man who loved people first and foremost, and that even his most avant-garde writing cherished simplicity and the very Essence of Being.
One point to make is the difference between this biography of Beckett and Richard Ellmann's biography of James Joyce. Ellmann begins with an astounding executive summary of his work that makes you really want to read not just the biography, but ALL of Joyce's work. Knowlson opts for a less dramatic, ostentatious opener, instead trying to be matter of fact, dispelling misconceptions, claiming Beckett to be what he in fact, was. Perhaps that tone is for the difference between the authors: Joyce the maximalist and Beckett the minimalist. Two opposite but kindred approaches.
****
The biography then gets into the details of his family history, painting Beckett's influences from an early age, as well as a pre-history of the author in how his ancestors even influenced him down the chain of lineage.
January 6, 2015
At 800 pages and 8 pounds (is that a tree?) this book is physically imposing, not to mention it has Beckett's grizzled mug on the cover. If the personal biographical details are your thing, you'll find plenty here (Becket fought in the resistance during WWII). And if you are interested in his publishing history, especially the challenges he faced getting his work published and produced, you'll find plenty of juicy details encompassing the French literary scene as well as the profanity trials. Given the nature of Beckett's work what I was most hoping to gain more insight about was the origin and development of his themes and techniques. There's a fair amount of that seeded throughout the 800 pages, but Beckett was always tight-lipped regarding those topics, so I'd give it three-stars for that aspect. Deserves more, though, for the quality of its scholarship and the sheer amount of biographical information.
December 27, 2014
Very thorough, very academic, very dry. If you want to learn as much as you can about the life of one of the 20th-century's greatest writers, this book is for you, but be warned, it's very slow going.
November 23, 2015
Very good if you forgive the defensiveness (and some fawning). Very useful if you want a detailed description of Beckett's life and work. Given that Knowlson was a personal friend, defensiveness completely understandable. As admirer can understand fawning too
July 31, 2016
If I were a scholar, I would have kept reading. But its detail was too minute for my casual interest. I did appreciate the cautious way that Knowlson handled fiction and biography, allowing biography to comment on fiction, but not the reverse.
July 16, 2014
Excellent but extremely detailed bio of Beckett. Hard to imagine any further info one would want to read about him.
May 10, 2011
This is by far the better biography of Samuel Beckett. The D. Bair is a hypothetical hack job. Knowlson had access to, and participation of, Beckett himself.
March 19, 2013
Excellent couldn't put it down, so detailed but thats why I enjoyed it.
October 13, 2014
Amazing biography. I recommend it to anyone who likes theatre...but if you like Beckett it is simply a must.
September 26, 2019
A wonderful biography of one of my favourie writers.
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