My recent reading of Beckett's plays included Happy Days, Embers, and Not I, the last two of which are included in this excellent collection of his shorter plays. The length of these plays does not diminish their brilliance or depth of meaning.In these short plays Beckett focused even more tightly on the inner experience of humanity. In Embers, a play written for the radio Beckett presents a man named Henry who shares his thoughts, both through attempting to tell a story and through memories of his past. With creation of characters his imagination presents these others, including his family, with an intensity that makes them seem alive. Yet it is their ghostly and ephemeral character that takes precedence. In the background the sound of the sea provides an ostinato that is haunting. Henry's imagination, however, weakens over the course of the short play. We first experience this as his story is interrupted more than once, yet he returns to it only with more and more difficulty. The memories of his past include scenes with his daughter and his wife, who may be present although her weak monotone voice suggests otherwise. "Not a sound" is a recurring phrase; but more important is the sound of dying embers. Henry tries to make us hear this but cannot project it:"not a sound, only the fire, no flames now, embers. (Pause.) Embers. (Pause.) Shifting, lapsing, furtive like, a dreadful sound" (90). It is a sound (the title of the play) that we are denied. It represents death and extinction and to give it sound would be to give it life.Beckett's prose has a serene, almost poetic quality and must have been extremely effective on a radio broadcast.
Same old turds...I might give this 4 and a half stars if possible, as I would to many books I've given 5 stars. This ratings system is rather deficient. At any rate, there are a couple pieces which are rather occluded, but still quite interesting nonetheless. In some of the best work here we have lines flattened out like slaps or bombs, equaling the language of the more known longer works. Krapp's Last Tape is the only well-known piece included. The volume varies from more conventional dialogue pieces to works written for radio, mimes, and even a dance work with an aleatorical component. Often deceptively simple, Beckett mines his familiar styles, minimalist stagings and motifs. He evokes so very well hopelessness in the face of endless repetition, feelings of imprisonment stemming from circumstances and/or human interdependence,as well as both the failures and absurdity of language itself. A must read for anyone who admires the longer and more well-known works.
What do You think about Collected Shorter Plays (1994)?
"Birth was the death of him. Again. Words are few. Dying too. Birth was the death of him. Ghastly grinning ever since. Up at the lid to come. In cradle and crib. At suck first fiasco. With the first totters. From mammy to nanny and back. All the way. Bandied back and forth. So ghastly grinning on. From funeral to funeral. Funerals of... he all but said of loved ones. Thirty thousand nights. Hard to believe so few. Born dead of night. Sun long sunk behind the larches. New needles turning green. In the room dark gaining. Till faint light from standard lamp. Wick turned low. And now. This night. Up at nightfall. Every nightfall. Faint light in room. Whence unknown. None from window. No. Next to none."
—Edward
Look. Dig it. Wait with it. Retrace you steps to it. Find yourself haunted by it. Beckett's work – here, his shorter and lesser known drama – may be part of an eternal and endless palinode, but it's at times a beautiful and cutting, hopeless and uplifting one. Read past Waiting for Godot, Endgame & Act Without Words, and Krapp's Last Tape, please! You're worth it, and so too is Sam Beckett.
—Leif
