How Many Stories?

Samuel Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape includes in its narration some of the best dose of metafiction i've seen so far. Its is, simplified to its absurd maximum, the narration of a man listening to himself in the past, or is it not. It is obviously the same man whose listening and speaking in the tape, and the author makes no intent to hide this. But when we become immersed in the words, in how they are said, when they are said, and so many details, we begin to trace their difference so far back that they appear to be different people. It becomes a story about a man who sits in front of a recording to listen the narration of another story which in the end happens to be his own story told by someone else, another Krapp. Yes, a little redundant, as intended. No not very structured, aloof in a condition his own.

There are two stories, the one about the young man and his best days, and the one about the man listening to this story (if we exclude the third story about the reader, which we must forget, but will for the purpose of simplicity). And the situation mirrors the other, for they both follow the same patters as is the banana eating ritual and the recording of memories. In a way there are two stories that intertwine in telling a single story about a same person, so different in his two states that it would be impossible to recur to a single story and have it make sense.

The Krapp under the white hair denies his past in many ways by failing to listen to the story, be that by ignoring it, skipping forward on the tape or merely distracticting himself with some grotesque gesture. When he skips the tape he challenges his condition, for it implies that a man who has lost his memory remembers something or at least a hint of it as something unpleasant. And his connection to the story, at least in the video, is depicted by his gestures, the every detail of these.

But there would be no point whatsoever in telling two stories about a same person if, when included in his story, that person experiences no reaction. The evolution in character from the moment the tape start to the final words is evident, again, through the gestures of the contemporaneous Krapp. His expressions change, his movement, the speed which with he moves his lips, his every action. And what is most impressive is the way the same person changes in his two stories, for when we listen to Krapp record his words they are much faster, less thought of, almost clumsy.

Nearing the end we witness what seems, at least at first, to be a drop of saliva build up in his lips. As we detail his face in search of an explanation for such an unprecedented reaction, we begin to see light reflect in the tears streaming down his face. Krapp is genuinely crying to himself. He finds his other self admitting that his "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." He begins to find that he is not so content with the way he used to think, with the words coming out of the other man's mouth. Maybe this other story made him yearn for more, yet another story, a third (or fourth) story, a story about his second chance at happiness.

Conditioning The Moment

In Samuel Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape, we audience a moment in the life of a peculiar character. In the performance we witness him and none else, almost as if there were none left, if not for his story. And be it that you read it, watch it or do both (which greatly adds to the picture), one easily realizes that the subject is not a very ordinary man, but rather one who demonstrated signs of what could be a mental condition. It is this condition and the role it plays in the telling of a story that intrigued me. It is this condition that made me dig onto its meaning. It is this condition that i'd like to discuss.

It can all be summarized in the way he peels his bananas, the meticulous process by which he eats them, calculating every move, almost as if following some invisible tempo. He eats them not for that human satisfaction of placing flavors in contact with the senses, but rather as a routine, as a process to follow in his scrutinous reality. And not far down we encounter the bananas again as part of the recording, helping establish them as a pattern. It is here that the man recognizes his condition, the presence of one, at the least.

As we move into the moment and the more we listen to the tape, we realize that there are certain similarities with the narration and the man listening, as if things repeated in his story. Even without much talk about his condition, there are hints to its implications. A loss of memory is evident, especially when listening about his mother. Not only does it shock him to find out about her "viduity," but he goes as far as looking for the word in a dictionary, a word he once used so naturally. Both the memory and its meaning fade from the former Krapp.

And his condition is further described in an incident narrated by the younger voice, the one in the tape. When we listen to the voice narrate his experience with a woman who "had her eyes on me. And yet when I was bold enough to speak to her--not having been introduced--she threatened to call a policeman." I came to wonder if there was more to his condition, some denial on his part. He seemed startled at the reaction from the woman, and quite honestly, so would i under the circumstances narrated. Then I wonder what must have triggered her reaction and concluded in fear, fear to something abnormal. He has a condition that is easily identified when relating to others, but he denies it, accepting his condition only as a minor element.

With his condition described to some extent I wonder if I could get more from reading it over again, some more hints, extra evidence. And I did, for every time I read a group of words for a second time it became more evident to me, and the longer I watched the video the more convinced I was. I find it hard to believe the narration would have any thrill if the protagonist was an ordinary individual with the typical human behavior. Is it possible, then, that every word, every movement, every element is a hint to his condition, that his condition is the whole point of the moment?

The Carwasher's Tale

This is the tale of men like all other, 1

To whom their greed proved of al sins mother.

A car washer who worked to feed his son

Was soon to meet his dreams and how they're gone.

It was a cloudy day and few cars came 5

For it was going to rain: The sky to blame.

And from the distant park came a black car,

The man in suit left keys and hit the bar.

He would be in for long, his car waiting

In the dark night. The sky began to sing. 10

Under the light something was soon to shine,

The crasher thinking "That could be mine."

With key in hand he went straight for the bling,

And as he did a man began to sing.

He turned around to find him dressed in green 15

As the police came close: The car he'd seen.

Their eyes flashed and saw the big sapphire

So clear and pure it hit their deep desire.

"I'll check the bar you stay and guard the car."

And as he did conscience declared a war. 20

So in the bar he stood with suit and all,

He stood with glass in hand about to fall.

So suddenly his greed began to show,

In his authority we saw him grow.

Back to the car his mind set on the goal, 25

Double treasure if he fulfill his role.

The big sapphire his most profound desire,

He'd keep the stone, with no one else conspire.

And so the crasher he'd send to jail

HIs plan was great the thief was going to fail. 30

And left alone the crasher then thought:

"Replace the stone. A plastic one I've bought."

So in the night for good he swapped the jewel,

Without a hint they'd gone into a duel.

Back came to cop and found the stone in place 35

And crasher, naivety in face.

Soon came his friends red lights upon the road

They took the thief, in his pocket a load.

And so their plan had worked! Or had it not?

Our poor old friend what he wanted he'd got. 40

Behind gray bars and with much time to think

And realize that in his deed he'd sink.

The other thief a plastic in his hand

Within his lame conscience the pain was grand.

A man in jail, his kid was left alone 45

And in this day their misery had grown.

Another Father And HIs Son

After much waiting and some searching, yesterday I finally got my hands on the movie "The Road." Having read the novel and analyzed it in great detail in previous blogs, it is only fair to say that my expectations towards the film were relatively high. I had been told that it was already out on theaters and waited for the weekend to come to go watch it only to find that it was all big lie, for its not out on theaters yet, or at least not in any I know of. I was greatly disappointed but, having read a story about a kid and his father that survived a natural disaster and fought bravely in their way to survival, I couldn't give up that easily. Finally, and after much research, I found the movie and, well, lets say I wish I hadn't.

As mentioned previously in blogs, the loving relationship between father and son struck me since the beginning of the novel as the most important element on a personal level. I had imagined their conversations once and again as they appeared on the pages, running images of their situation through my mind. To me, it was a narration of a relationship, all other event being but elements to depicts new aspects of such. It was not a story about natural disaster, humanity's resilience, hope or any of that to this reader, it was about communication and companionship. But apparently, John Hillcoat and I disagree in our interpretations. I was expecting a movie depicting this relationship, one that made you think about yourself and your relationships, one with something beyond a best-seller about a natural disaster.

In his movie, Hillcoat depicts the father as a guardian in opposition of my image of him as a companion. The movie narrates much of what the book suggests, but it excludes that communication between father and son which is so present through the book. It can be no better demonstrated than by the fact that we don't see the kid speak to his father until we are about 25 minutes into the film. In the novel, it is already in the tenth page that they are having a conversation about death and Cormac McCarthy illustrates the relationship that will protagonise the entire novel:

"What would you do If I died?

If you die I would want to die too.

So you could be with me?

Yes. So I could be with you

Okay" (11).

A director has in his role the power to change a novel so much by merely excluding elements or ignoring certain pages, that it is almost as if he was telling a different story. He can make this story either more enriching to the reader or a project that falls short of the expected, and that is the problem when dealing with the visual depiction of written ideas. In the film, the relationship between the two progressively improves, for at the beginning they barely speak, and at the end they are already having long conversations with elements of the novel inscribed in them. And this is another way to narrate the relationship, but not the way the author wanted it to be done, and even in the end the movie falls short of illustrating the relationship to its full extent.

When the movie reaches minute 45, we witness the scene of the kid chasing another boy he thought he saw, and the father going after him. In the book this happens, and the father isn't exactly thrilled with the kids behavior, but not once does he loose his temper and shadow the relationship as the father in the movie did scolding him and raising his voice violently in an argument that has no place in the novel. It is here that I felt as if I was being told a different story, as if the film and the book narrated the same situation of two different kids, for as hard as I tried I couldn't conciliate the father in the novel with the father on the screen, they where just not the same person.

In the pages, when the father dies, the novel reaches one of the deepest points in depicting that relationship. It is then that we confirm that all what we'd read is real, and that the father and his son where really companions. And the kid, frustrated at his loss, reminds the father that he promised never to leave him. And the Father is truly sorry and remind him that "You have my whole heart. You always did. You're the best guy. You always were. If i'm not here you can still talk to me. You can talk to me and I'll talk to you. You'll see" (279). The father then made their communication eternal as to highlight its importance in the novel, he suggests that even if he dies their connection will remain and they will always be able to communicate their fears and hopes to one another. The father in the film, well he's not that expressive. It's definitely a sad scene, with the father lying cold on the floor and his son placing a blanket on him, but without the communication, without the words that made the pages so rich.

I can only begin to express my disappointment at the movie. Yes, I realize those are harsh words, but Hillcoat should have realized he was dealing with something beyond entertainment. And even if it was only entertainment I must say it fails to meet its objective for it has no thrill, no action, none of the things that would have made this movie at least exciting when excluding the relationship. And it is not mere resentment, for I witnessed as one of my friends stood up and went to sleep for nothing happened, and those of us who read it where hypnotized by the screen but not as a result of the film but of the critique running through our minds. And I wish I had written congratulations to Hillcoat on this blog, that the film would have given me more to praise than to miss, but I can only reiterate to myself that whoever thinks films and our modern forms of entertainment will soon replace literature should do himself a favor and live my experience.

Re-reading Routine?

I have consistently, through these previous years as a learner of literature, encountered the idea of re-reading texts. I have even seen why these authors, many of them nothing besides words in common, advise their readers to apply this technique, but have never actually convinced myself I should apply it beyond theory. And it is not because I don't believe in its utility, for when I have happened to re-read a text (be that poems, articles or such pieces which are reasonably short), I have found the second time to be an even more completing experience, more so if done the third.

In her blog post, Sonya not only suggests the idea, but goes beyond into enumerating several benefits of a re-read, and even beyond that, she gives an example of a specific re-read and her findings in it. One of the best points made in my opinion is the fact that "we confuse our direct experience of the book with someone else’s (a reviewer’s, a casting director’s, a teacher’s)," and therefore fail to grasp much of the richness of a piece. Sometimes we read in search of mere entertainment, to have a story told. Thats ok, if we only want to focus on plot and maybe even analyze events and characters later on, but then we forget to pay detailed attention to composition, structure, style, patterns and other elements of literature which are also an integral part of novels, in many cases more than the plot itself.

And here I wonder if it depends on the genre read. I know that this course is geared towards literature, but a little thinking outside the box is fine, especially if we realize that we are going to be audience of many reads in our lifetime, each of them unique and not necessarily grammatically or compositionally great. Take anything from a complex set of instructions to a scientific explanation on a phenomena, and compare it to re-reading a novel as "Great Gatsby." It is true that different elements are captured as you re-read the different examples, but I find it absurd to even suggest that said exercise doesn't add up to a better achievement of our objective as readers (and theirs as writers).

But here I must at least question Sonya in her idea of re-reading as a routine. We have concluded that it makes sense to re-read novels maybe three or four times, but is there a limit to its utility? Is there ever a point where you have read a novel so many times there is nothing left for you to take from it? I agree that we will re-discover something every time simply because we are beings of memory, and memory fails to catch all details, leaving some for the next time as if never seen. But I think that there may come a point where you have nothing left to read for, no approach to the re-read that hasn't been tried before.

Father And Son

After contemplating the harsh reality in "The Road" and finding absence of hope through the pages, I realized that there where things to light up the tragedy, even if it is only for the reader at the expense of the characters. What most clearly demonstrates this is the tender relationship between father and son, and how they stick together no matter what almost as if staying alive was a sacrifice done for the sake of the other, for the love that exists between. Obviously, it is not the ideal setting for a story of a great father and his son, but it is in the worst moments when the best things of life stand out. When there is nothing left for any of them they hang on to the other as best they can, giving and receiving from one another and unfailing support.

This love for his son is more visible in the toughest parts of their journey when the reality is extremely close to being too much to handle and theres "a single round left in the revolver. you will not face the truth. You will not (68)." And he considers ending the tragedy but he doesn't not for himself, but for someone else. And it is here where they keep each other alive with their mere presence, with their patient company. And the father not only accompanies the son, but finds in him a reason to continue, a purpose in life, a task at hand. He is the kids ultimate protector and would have it no other way, firmly believing that he was "appointed to do that by God. I will kill anyone who touches you (77)." And he covers every role in the kids life, for even if we wanted to, there is no one else left to do so. But this in no way shadows the magic of relationship, for even if it could happen no other way, the fact that it does makes the father a hero to the reader, whom, warm and comfortable in his bed, reads about the snow and starvation.

The two make up the whole story: their story. But it is not enough, for every page we read we discover something new, something else about them, their past, their thinking, their personality, their love. And they are not only father and son, for they are friends, companions in adversity. One may be stronger that the other and wiser and more prepared for the reality that hits them, but none is less integral to their survival than the other, for if one of them fails to persist, the other would surely succumb to his situation. And even when it seems logical and the situation would call for sacrifice, they would not have it that way. Th father feels it and he confesses that he "was going to run. To try to lead them away. But I cant leave you (113)." It is here that the father makes it clear for everyone and for himself that there is no point in sacrifice, that it makes no sense to survive without the other. And so there is some hope at least, maybe not in the outcome, or in the situation, but in humanity as a people of feelings, capable of love and sacrifice.

Hope For Hope

In his novel "The Road," Cormac McCarty narrates the experience of a father and his son as they survive a natural disaster that has wiped most of the human race. In their experience, many aspects of humanity come to light in the midst of what is an exemplary relationship between the two, characterized by a loving and patient communication. Constant flashbacks interrupt the novel format time to time, hinting towards what should have been the fathers life, the world prior to the disaster, the kid's mother, and many other things that add up to make the tragedy a real mental challenge to the two. And the memories fail to provide hope, for they narrate destruction and loss as when they get to "where we used to have Christmas when I was a boy. He turned and looked out at the waste of the yard, A tangle of dead lilac (26)." No only do we find mention of what is possibly the gayest celebration of the year on this side of the world, but we literally encounter life in the lilacs, which used to occupy space in both the garden and his memory, and now provide the magnitude of disaster, the shadow of death.

And we continue to search for some hope, almost as the characters themselves do, struggling to keep them alive as if the more we read the more their vitality burned. And we think that maybe, if we read enough, there will be a bright light and everything might begin to clear up into hope, but it isn't the case yet. But then the kid begins to show signs of that absence of hope, making the story even more shocking, for kids are supposed to be the living representation of hope, and there is no longer hope in hope. And I shall give reasons to my statement in mentioning a dream of a penguin wounded by the father, and " it was a lot scarier in the dream (36)," and then, as to complete the scene, "the winder wasnt turning (37)." In the dream, as simple and inoffensive as it might be, there where two different sources of fear, alienated from each other. The penguin obviously shocked the kid, for it was his first description, but then, even more, the winder was the real ultimatum. If it wasn't turning, then there was no air, no wind, no movement, nothing. And that is probably his fear: nothing. And I don't mean nothing in a sense of no fear, but of nothingness, of the absence of.

By that point we think we have read enough, that no other tragedy can possibly hit the characters, but the more we learn about their immediate past, the more we find nothingness. When we learn about the mother, I think the last thought on my mind was of her suicide. I had naively assumed she had been but another victim of the disaster, and even though in a sense she was, she was also an ally to that disaster in another sense. Her killing herself is the final demonstration of how hope is not only absent, but how its absence can make life succumb to nothingness.

Announced Treason

The Pardoner's Tale incorporates death, drinking, gambling, greed and treason as themes in depicting a situation different from previous tales. Unlike the tale of the Wife Of Bath, the current obviously incorporates a clear moral and provides a teaching to the reader. And then again it is quite ironic, for the narrator of such tale is not precisely an exemplary character, but rather one immersed in greed and personal profit. But beyond being an evil preacher, he goes as far as admitting it and possibly finding pride in it: " Yet I can tell you a moral tale, Which I am accustomed to preach in order to profit (460-461)." He is treating as his normal audience in effect, and according to what we know about such, they are people willing to listen to words of hope and wisdom which only really camouflage a lucrative business, and this we must keep in minds as we read.

And time and again he reminds us that the moral "is not my principal intention; I preach nothing but for greed (432-433)." But it is hard to register and without much notice we take this tale so seriously, trying to dig into its essence so hard that we become that audience which he openly mocked previously. But our interest goes beyond that, onto what his words might mean, almost as if they could give intention to the character and not the other way around. And the effect gains momentum as we find the pardoner talking about the evils of mankind, criticizing our sins as if he meant it, almost making him a figure of approval, of superiority. We forget what he waned us against as soon as he "would rather die than I should ally you to dice-players (615-616)," for it seems suddenly that he has some conscience after all.

And as naive readers we are, we suppose that because the pardoner knows the difference between good and evil, he abides by his words, but they are only the vehicle of his obscure intentions. And he mocks us as he talks about the evils of mankind for " Corrupt was all this world for gluttony (504)" as he impersonates his words, what irony! But time and again we forget and forgive, we fail to remember his words only because we don't find any benefit in accepting them and find that denying them makes everything so much brighter.

And the story talks about treason between fellow travelers and "these two scoundrels are agreed to slay the third, as you have heard me say (835-836)," and we make no connections. He warns us against himself yet again by asking us to pay attention to what we have heard him say, almost as if in his evil, our naive nature would make his intentions acceptable because why not? Didn't he warn us about everything after all? And if we go a little beyond the obvious and maybe even stretch the possibilities a bit we might remember that before God we are all brothers, all fellow travelers in the path to spiritual satisfaction. It is as in his story of treason and greed that he behaves, for he is the traitor and we the trusting blind.

The Irony In Religion

Although religion has played an important role in every tale we've read so far, it's a key element in The Wife of Bath's Tale beyond previous examples. In the prologue, to start, we see reoccurring reference to God, Jesus and The Bible. At first, the reader is not very aware of the specific purpose of religion, and words such as "Christ, who is the source of perfection, Did not command that every one should go sell All that he had, and give it to the poor (107-109)" hint towards a strict interpretation of religion, setting expectations for a serious consideration. Then, as the text evolves, we begin to wonder the role religion plays as intended to explain a final purpose of the tale, and its significance changes. Suddenly it serves as a connection to historical and cultural aspects, as if pretending to facilitate the understanding of the tale by setting parallels with a theme that the narrator assumes universal.

References to God create tension at some points and, prior to the reader immersing fully in the mood of the text, even give the masterpiece some brushwork characteristic of particularly devote writing. The use of powerful words such as "help me true God omnipotent (423)" make it hard to even consider the presence of irony and humor. I, by the point, assumed that it would be a serious tone with an ultimately morally constructive theme such as parables in The Bible. Soon, and to my honest surprise,some other elements began to kick in.

The Tale continues to narrate about women and marriage in a way that breaks with the initial mood of the text. At first it seems cruel and exaggerated with mention of the malign capabilities of a hateful wife:

"That some have slain their husbands in their bed,

And let her lecher copulate with her all the night,

When the corpse lay in the floor flat on its back.

And some have driven nails in their brains,

While they slept, and thus they had them slain.

Some have given them poison in their drink (766-771)."

Suddenly, the religious mood of the text is interfered with the introduction of vicious violence and heartless homicide. I begin to struggle to find a moral or some sort of teaching in words but they definitely fail to meet my expectations. Words narrate the most negative of the thoughts, the most painful of the human nightmares, and suddenly religion no longer gives this text a feeling of devotion and faith on the noble.

Then words begin to emerge in ways that challenge reality, for it is hard to believe that the same Tale encourages religion and delivers such liberal and unrefined ideas of marriage in unison. The wife suggests that women "love no man who takes notice or concern about Where we go; we will be free (to do as we wish) (322)." Here is what I meant by liberal, for such mentality is even frowned upon today. The image of marriage is one of trust and loyalty, and this ideas challenge the traditional ideals of the ceremony.

In the midst of this antagonism of marriage, religion surrenders not in its appearance, struggling to maintain its high ground. Small references to The Bible continue to show up even if they are as minimal as "He died when I came from Jerusalem, And lies buried under the rood beam (495-496)." The situation made me recall conscience and its similarity to what would be a battle between good and evil inside ones self, almost like used to happen in cartoons. But both sides struggle, and even turn upon each other to twist meanings: "I know well Abraham was a holy man, And Jacob also, insofar as I know; And each of them had more than two wives (55-57)."

No situation explains this better than when a child finds his parent engaged in that which they forbid him. Whats left to say when example fails, when him who asks you to excel lives in mediocrity? And then, as in all confrontations, ideas begin to blend with each other even to the point of complement. In the end so much irony, exaggeration and critic blends into something bordering satire, the much expected moral of the story:

"And also I pray Jesus shorten their lives

That will not be governed by their wives; (1261-1262)."