Samuel BeckettLiterary Fiction · Classics·1906–1989
Waiting for Godot
Synopsis
On a lonely country road, beside a single bare tree, two tramps named Vladimir and Estragon wait for a man called Godot. They are not sure when he will come, or what he looks like, or even whether they have the right day or the right place — but they wait, filling the empty hours with banter, quarrels, half-remembered stories, and thoughts of giving it all up.
To pass the time they are joined by the pompous Pozzo and his abused, burdened servant Lucky, and later by a boy who brings word that Godot will not come today — but surely tomorrow. Then the second act begins, and much the same happens again.
First written in French as 'En attendant Godot' and translated into English by Beckett himself, this 'tragicomedy in two acts' is the founding masterpiece of the Theatre of the Absurd. Bleakly funny and endlessly interpreted, it distils the human condition into two figures waiting, hoping, and enduring on a stage stripped almost bare.
How it reads
Prose complexity 10/10
- Entre Didi et Gogo, Lucky et Pozzo, je me retrouve, ahurie. Comme une évidence, et depuis la première ligne, on attend Godot. Que faisons-nous ici, voilà ce qu'il faut se demander. Nous avons la chance de le savoir. Oui, dans cette immense confusion, une seule chose est claire: nous attendons que Godot vienne. Godot, cet "être" mystérieux, emblématique et, surtout, absent. Rattachés aux chaussures d'Estragon, aux chapeaux melons de Vladimir, on est perdus entre les lignes. Des lignes chargés en sens politique, existentiel, et sur d'autres plans qui m'échappent certainement. Vladimir: [...] Qu'est ce que tu as? Estragon: Je suis malheureux. Vladimir: Sans blague! Depuis quand? Estragon: J'avais oublié. Vladimir: La mémoire nous joue de ces tours. Par moments, je riais, tant l'absurdité est frappante. On attend, on trouve de quoi nous préoccuper, on attend encore plus, on vit, on fait semblant de vivre, on rit, on pleure, et on refait le tout, indéfiniment. Quoique j'écrive ici, je ne pourrais transmettre combien je fus touchée par cette pièce. Voilà. Dans un instant, tout se dissipera, nous serons à nouveau seuls, au milieu des solitudes.
- Like Vladimir and Estragon, I waited for Godot, I hoped to see Godot, deep insisde I knew that Godot was a lazy bastard who doesn't give a f••• about me and that he wasn't coming, but nevertheless, waiting for him gave me a purpose. We believe our lives aren't wasted when we give ourselves the illusion of waiting for something, tomorrow will bring me something therefore today wasn't wasted because it is just preparing me for tomorrow... In the meantime, we banter, we fight, we wonder, we try to live in a safe comfortable routine because we wouldn't dare leave our spot and act instead of waiting; so, f••• you Godot because you are making me aware of my fears and insecurities, but I'll still be under the tree tomorrow, not knowing if it's day or night, if you are young or old, what are you going to tell me, when will you come...but I'll be waiting patiently, contentedly..so will I the day after that, and the day after it, deleting each day as it passes, starting anew with fake hopes, ending each day with the promise of bringing a hope the day after..wating..