WAITING FOR ACTION
I was pleased to read J S Barnes pointing out (The Critic July 2021) the anomaly of Samuel Beckett’s colossal reputation. The tedious novels, Malone Dies and
Molloy, are shameless stream-ofconsciousness outpourings of directionless logorrhoea.
He’s at his best when he’s being brief. The aphoristic one-act scenes, like Not I, can be quite poignant. It’s odd, though, that critics haven’t tumbled to the fact that the longer plays are really one act scenes gratuitously extended.
The second act of Waiting for Godot is a redundant addition to the first, with irrelevant characters that contribute nothing — there’s (by definition) no story so the main point having been made, it would have been best just to stop.
The same goes for Happy Days, which sets up a memorable (if silly) situation and then adds a second act that has no more to say on the subject. I suggest that Beckett should be remembered for his brief, pungent short works. His otiose longer ones, especially the supposedly major plays, can be consigned to oblivion. Andrew Wilton
Chislehurst