Molloy

Molloy is a book of two halves: the first half is a first-person narrative told by Molloy and the second told by Malone. The book as a whole can be broadly said to outline and explore the reason and self of each character and how these things only make sense within the context of the meaning of existence as a whole. Molloy's reason is abnormal from the outset of the novel. He does things without knowing why; he constantly questions himself back and forward without reaching a conclusion as he sees no objective basis for selecting one option above the other. Molloy is driven by the purpose of finding his mother, but has no reason for doing so and no idea where she currently is. Through the character of Molloy (and later Malone) Beckett points to the absurdity of action without objective morality or purpose: that reason after the death of God in European society is stranded without a final goal for action. We chase goals that have no fundamental purpose and there is no overarching goal that can truly be said to be a rational foundation for action. In this state of affairs, we either end up psychologically paralysed or we make decisions for no solid reason apart from that life demands action. The second half of the book follows Malone. At first Malone strikes the reader as a man that is extremely rational and is driven by first religious beliefs. He is horrendously hypocritical and ambitious, but unlike Molloy he makes decisions for a reason and therefore has a kind of internal consistency. However, as the book progresses Malone begins to buckle under the unbearable weight of the expectations that he places on himself and others and the absurdity of life. Malone is sent by an organisation to find Molloy. His quest for Molloy seems rational at the outset but slowly reveals its absurdity as Malone has no idea why he is chasing Molloy or what he is supposed to do with him once he finds him. Eventually Malone becomes more like Molloy. He ceases to care about what happens to his body yet finds a kind of peace from the acceptance of the lack of purpose in life. In one beautiful passage Malone expresses his delight at the dancing of bees and his endless study of this; Malone says that this will remain beautiful as he won't destroy his delight in the unknown of how the bees communicate; he contrasts this to how humans have destroyed the delight of God by turning God into a larger version of a human being. At some parts of the book Beckett makes it seem that Molloy could actually be the psychologically transformed version of Malone: both use crutches due to stiff knees and are estranged from their sons. After some reflection I decided this was not the case but instead is Beckett pointing out that the self is not a single, separate entity but there is a shared human experience and language from which each of us emerges. It is also possible that Beckett is saying that each individual is Molloy and Malone: on the one hand an individual that acts for no foundational reason and on the other an rational capacity that is internally contradicted without a metaphysical purpose structuring it but is still acting with the pretence of rationality. Apart from the main themes described above, Molloy is laced with philosophical reflections and an incredibly funny sense of humour. Beckett said that the book came quickly out of his unconscious as he realised what he really wanted to say was what he was blocking in his unconsciousness. In this sense, many of the ideas in this work may have come from deep unconscious thoughts that Beckett had about the world and are not woven as a coherent plot. Some things in the book seem unconnected and one can dwell for a long time on the greater meaning. For me is was better to let the layered reflections wash over me and allow the experience to unfold without perfect clarity about what each aspect of the book means in relation to the rest of the novel. See my other reviews at: amateurreviewspace.blogspot.com

I went through a Beckett phase some fifteen years ago, after I read _Endgame_, which remains my favorite of his plays. Even though I do not agree with Beckett’s worldview, I have fond memories of that reading experience. His neglected novel _Mercier and Camier_ made me laugh like few books I’ve read. _Watt_ was another favorite, though it tried my patience a bit. Some of the short plays I consider masterpieces; others, insults to the reader/spectator, something they are, in a sense, meant to be. _The Complete Short Prose_ is one of the most frustrating, infuriating volumes I have ever forced myself to read. The consensus, I heard, was that Beckett’s trilogy constituted his best work in prose. The book stayed on my shelf, untouched, until now. I recently developed an interest in fiction that is not plot-driven. A few weeks ago, I read Thomas Bernhard’s _Concrete_ (1982), then Clarice Lispector’s _The Besieged City_ (1948). The latter led me to Virginia Woolf, so I grabbed my copy of _The Waves_ (1931), which I had been saving for the right moment, and devoured it with gusto. Why not pay old Beckett a long-delayed visit? I asked myself. _Molloy_ (1951) is one of Beckett’s most enjoyable books. It is divided into two parts, the first of which concerns the man of the title. He is producing a text, in which he relates his mundane (mis)adventures as he travels by bicycle to see his mother. He does not know why he is looking for his mother. His knee hurts. In the second part of the novel, we are introduced to one Jacques Moran, a type of investigator who has been asked to find Molloy. He sets out on his quest in the company of his young son. Moran is also clueless as to the ultimate purpose of his mission. At one point, he asks his son to buy a bicycle. Then his knee begins to hurt… Beckett’s novels are examples of the French literary movement known as the nouveau roman (tautologically referred to as the “new novel” in English). Other authors associated with this school are Alain Robbe-Grillet, Marguerite Duras, Nathalie Sarraute, Michel Butor, and (with reservations) Claude Simon. Robbe-Grillet’s _For a New Novel_ (1963) is a manifesto of the movement. In a nutshell, the nouveau roman sought to depart from the traditional parameters of the novel. The nineteenth-century novel was, according to these authors, an obsolete bourgeois artifact. The nouveau roman consequently gave the world novels devoid of plot, narratives that did not display the traditional unities: of place, character, etc. Beckett revolutionized the theatre with _Waiting for Godot_ (1953), which represented the next scandal after Pirandello’s _Six Characters in Search of an Author_ (1921), and probably the last scandal the theatre has experienced. With _Molloy_, he did violence to the narrative genre. The setting is a bleak, unrecognizable land. Molloy is the not the protagonist; neither is Moran. Instead of relating a plot, the narrative is brought together by the concept of the search. Incidentally, many novels of the nouveau roman used techniques associated with the detective novel, for the obvious purpose of keeping the reader interested. Personally, what keeps me interested as I read Beckett is his dark humor. I laughed out loud while I read _Molloy_. I don’t know what that says about me. I have mixed feelings about the nouveau roman. In a way, it followed the “big three” of twentieth-century western literature--Joyce, Kafka, and Proust--to their (il)logical conclusion. (_Finnegans Wake_ is a cornerstone here.) The development of narrative from the second half of the twentieth century until today, however, suggests that most readers favor a traditional, even formulaic structure. The linear novel did not die, and while it may be refreshing to read a plot-less novel or a novel without characters every now and then, the truth is that very few people will devote their lives to reading novels like _Molloy_, _Malone Dies_ (1951), and _The Unnamable_ (1953) exclusively. The second and third novels of the trilogy, as you may know, are even more extreme. Together, the books trace the disintegration of narrative. Who should read _Molloy_? Those who enjoy Beckett’s plays. Those looking for a different type of novel, or anti-novel. Writers of fiction. Keep in mind, though, that Beckett may well be the most extreme of the nouveau roman authors. If you’re looking for a compelling experimental narrative, I recommend Josefina Vicens’ _The Empty Book_ (1958). This metafictional anti-novel written in the spirit of the nouveau roman is simply one of the best books I’ve ever read. Next on my list by Beckett, the second part of the trilogy: _Malone Dies_. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the book!

Beckett is a favorite author of mine and Molloy is one of his best books. It's an excellent choice for anyone looking to get drunk on language and have some great laughs as well. More accessible than his other great works (such as my other favorites, Malone Dies and The Unnameable), Molloy still offers an incredible richness of language and one of Beckett's great characters. The book is still something of a challenge but it more than repays any effort spent reading it. I strongly recommend it to anyone who loves the English language (especially as crafted by the Irish).

How could I presume to review this Moebius strip of a book, a bizarre chronicle of futility and human ridiculosity, in which a mad mother-beating hobo is pursued by a mean child-abusing pedant who doesn't know when he is beyond recovery? Little material details rattle around like sucking stones among the loose joints left by the to and fro of indecision and uncertainty evinced by the two overlapping protagonists (or neutagonists). It's as frightening, very funny, and paradoxically definitive as a book on being and nothingness could be. All hail, the amazing Samuel Beckett.

Full of Surprises! Suspenseful! Fast! Complex! Sentences like “What was God doing with himself before the creation?” just scream at you to TURN THE PAGE and READ MORE BECKETT! Excellent characterization. Fast pace, so much SUSPENSE! Just look: “But it is useless to dwell on this period of my life. If I go on long enough calling that my life I'll end up by believing it.” Don't DWELL, buy it now!

Had to read this book for a class. I ended up liking it and keeping it. Make sure you have time to think about it as you read though, not a light book.

IMPRESIONANTE. No he leido nada igual. Escrito en primera persona, refleja de forma magistral el absurdo de Beckett. Hay que leerlo. Diferente a todo lo demás.

If just for the language, concept and ideas presented in this vision of Molloy and the peculiar landscape he inhabits, this is a must-read for anyone who loves and cares about words.

Molloy, the story of both a man travelling and a man following, who may or may not be the same person, was my first foray into the work of Beckett. Being familiar with the reputation, at least, of Waiting for God of and Beckett 's standing as an exponent of the Theatre of the Absurd I forewarned myself with the knowledge that Molloy might be a challenging read. To my relief, reading Molloy was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. After a few pages I found my mind tuned in to Beckett 's flowing, circular narrative, which is often in the form of Molloy's circular, repetitive monologue. The introspective meanderings of Molloy, fixed on his bad leg, his bad memory, his inner voice and a troubled journey to see his mother, form the plot of the unusual but engaging first half of the book. The second half of the book deals with an, at first, altogether different character. Again written in the same monologous style, with the reader now well and truly familiar with the style of prose, the central character becomes Moran, an agent - of what or whom is never made clear - sent to find Molloy. What Moran is to do with Molloy should he find him is never made clear, in fact, the cloudiness of the reason signals the deterioration of Moran's once meticulous being. Moran's journey mirrors Molloy's in more ways than one, both having clear objectives - to find Molloy or, for Molloy, to find his mother - that slip away from them. Both men have difficult relationships with their close family that perhaps borders on cruelty, Moran with his son and Molloy with his mother. This narrative symmetry gradually evolves in a physical and mental similarity, which leaves the reader wondering: is Moran becoming Molloy, or has he in fact always been Molloy and the story is a retrospective of his earlier life? The question hangs over the end of the book, which finished all too quickly, disappointing only in the sense that there was no real conclusion. The are more books in the series, which the ending of Molloy almost implores you to read. In essence Molloy is frustrating in the sense there is no obvious answer to the questions posed in the book. However, I found the book interesting and enjoyable. Those who enjoy the teasing plots of Kafka's Trial or Camut's The Outsider should find Molloy right up their street.

This is the more modern version of the genre Pirandello started & got named the theatre of the "absurd". The two characters in Beckett's book; Molloy & Moran behave like paranoid schizophrenics (do not trust, see & hear things which are not true, says the definition of this character disorder). Would all those writters in this genre from Pirandello to Herold Pinter who are Nobel prize winners, including Beckett, would narrow their vision to such small segment of the population? If this classification is true; we are, for the most part, trusting & find our lives clear & with much hope. Apropos, Albert Camu & J.P Sartre, the pillars of post WW2 existentialists writte similar stories. In this group only one offers a solution, Sartre, who proposes to get rid-off metaphysics from philosophy. What would your proposal be?

El libro es muy guapo, el precio no.