Samuel Beckett- First Love

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detailed analysis of chosen problem (e.g. symbolism, feminist issues, culture clash,
family issues, mythology, allusions…..) - the remaining time
 this part should include interactive activities for your colleagues, e.g.
quiz, crossword, drama techniques (frozen images, pantomime, acting
out…) - one per presentation is enough

First Love is a short narrative, told in the first person, written in the form of a dramatic
monologue. The narrator is mentally challenged, talking like a simpleton about his visits to
his father’s grave, his fondness for hanging around in graveyards, his liking for the smell of
the dead.

Dramatic monologue
- a poem written in the form of a speech of an individual character; it compresses into a
single vivid scene a narrative sense of the speaker’s history and psychological insight
into his character.
- Though the form is chiefly associated with Robert Browning, who raised it to a highly
sophisticated level in such poems as “My Last Duchess,” it is actually much older.
- Many Old English poems are dramatic monologues—for instance, “The Wanderer”.
- the form is one of subtlety of characterization and complexity of the dramatic
situation, which the reader gradually pieces together from the casual remarks
or digressions of the speaker.
- the topic discussed is usually much less interesting than what is inadvertently revealed
about the speaker himself.
- The form parallels the novelistic experiments with point of view in which the reader is
left to assess the intelligence and reliability of the narrator.
- ater poets who successfully used the form were Ezra Pound (“The River Merchant’s
Wife: A Letter”), T.S. Eliot (“Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”)

To quote Leslie Fiedler, an American literary critic, Beckett enjoyed ‘twitting the
bourgeoisie’, and this is quite evident in the text as the narrator tells us of his liking towards
fart and arses. The other members of his father’s household never liked him, or barely
tolerated him.
When his father died, they promptly kicked him out the house – more precisely locked his
door and piled all his things up outside it. He left, wandering off into the great outside. He
sleeps for successive nights on a bench by a canal until disturbed by Lulu, a prostitute.
There we can observe a pattern of a self-obsessed man being interrupted, disturbed from his
self-absorption by a woman recurs in most of the stories in More Pricks Than Kicks, and
in Murphy where the solipsistic protagonist is also troubled by the attentions of a streetwalker,
Celia.

Solipsism
- in philosophy, an extreme form of subjective idealism that denies that the
human mind has any valid ground for believing in the existence of anything but itself.
- The British idealist F.H. Bradley, in Appearance and Reality (1893), characterized the
solipsistic view as follows:

o I cannot transcend experience, and experience must be my experience. From

this it follows that nothing beyond my self exists; for what is experience is its
[the self’s] states.

- Presented as a solution of the problem of explaining human knowledge of the external

world, it is generally regarded as a reductio ad absurdum - in common speech the term
reductio ad absurdum refers to anything pushed to absurd extremes.

This refers to that men are useless solipsists until rescued by a practical woman is one way of
interpreting this common narrative structure.

After a few night-time encounters with Lulu, the narrator goes off to find shelter in a barn in
the country, rather absurdly reduced to writing out Lulu’s name in cow pats.
Beckett was chiefly known for his absurd drama. The absurd drama is the result of
disillusionment and loss of faith. It depicts a world which is devoid of meaning and purpose.
This kind of drama highlights the spiritual loneliness, complete isolation, and anxiety.
Beckett’s plays have existential elements in them.

Existentialism
- Existentialism is a philosophical tenet or discourse that employs the theme of human
existence and prioritizes personal experience.
- It refers to essential melancholia generated due to the realization of eternal existence
of sorrow and suffering.
- It advocates for freedom, believes in individualism and human rights with no external
barrier- man is entirely responsible for himself and he himself should set the goals and
live accordingly.
- The chief exponents of existentialism are philosophers Soren Kierkegaard and
Friedrich Nietzsche and novelist Fyodor Distoevsky who critiqued rationalism and
concerned themselves with the problem of meaning.
- A primary virtue in existentialist thought is authenticity.
- Existentialists held that man is because man exists. Man is more important than all
rules, regulations, laws or values. Man’s existence in reality is miserable, lonely and
 alienated; the desire for happiness is a myth and there is no escape of man from
suffering. Man should be free to do what he wills and desires. Death is inevitable and
essential part of life. So, themes related to alienation and suffering abound in
existential literature. Meaninglessness and absurdity of human life are given emphasis
in such kind of literature.

He returns to the city and allows himself to be taken to her small apartment.

Quietism
- in philosophy sees the role of philosophy as broadly therapeutic or remedial
- Quietist philosophers believe that philosophy has no positive thesis to contribute, but
rather that its value is in defusing confusions in the linguistic and conceptual
frameworks of other subjects, including non-quietist philosophy. For quietists,
advancing knowledge or settling debates (particularly those between realists and non-
realists) is not the job of philosophy, rather philosophy should liberate the mind by
diagnosing confusing concepts.
- Beckett use quietism in connection with authors he admires (Marcel Proust, Thomas
Mann, Dostoyevsky) which tells us something about how he is going to use it later on
- Beckett also use it to describe his own kind of lifestyle- what he tells us about himself
with quietism is both kind of a mode of serenity but also something that might lead to
despair or suicide, and this is really a reflection of his own interests
- Main reason why Beckett becomes interested in quietism and these themes is because
during 1930s when he mostly uses the word, he was suffering for a lot of his anxiety
attacks.
- Quietism, because it is about calming the mind, might have a beneficial impact upon
that.
- Beckett thinks here´s a philosophy that can calm both heart and mind.
- In Dream of Fair to Middling Women and Murphy, the main characters are quietists
of a certain kind, Belacqua has a lot of heart problems like Beckett does and they both
look for the same kind of relief.

He returns to the city and allows himself to be taken to her small apartment
where, with the obsessive-compulsive behaviour typical of a Beckett figure, he
empties the room he’s given of every scrap of furniture, piling it all in the hall
outside. He hears Lulu – who he has renamed Anna – having sex with clients in
the other room. I think the narrator and Lulu have sex a few times, though it’s
hard to tell. Lulu-Anna gets pregnant. She strips and shows him her belly and
breasts swelling. The protagonist realises he must leave. One night he hears the
baby being born, the screams and the cries. He gets dressed quietly, exits the
house, but wherever he goes he still hears the baby crying.

Autobiographical Element
- There is no doubt that the writing and publication of First Love caused
Beckett stress and anxiety to a considerable level. Amongst the reasons
critics like Bair cite for its delayed translation and publication is the
presence of too much “autobiographical” elements and facts.
 - First Love depicts and portrays a specific woman who apparently was in a
relationship with Beckett in 1934. Cronin suggests that the female
character in First Love is quite similar to a Dublin prostitute who walked
its canals, and to whose child Beckett provided some financial support.

Activities:
1. Brainstorming- a group activity where each participant shares their ideas as soon as they
come to mind.
2. LASO technique- sorting the ideas into more concrete groups.
3. Which quote belong to which part of the story?
4. Bingo- with words from brainstorming
5. Alpha Box- table with alphabet, in groups, everybody has to assign a word, sentence,
question that starts with the given letter, it must be related to the topic and then explain
why they wrote it

Notes beyond are just for my own research:

- At the beginning, the main character talks about the death of his father (I ASSOCIATE,
rightly or wrongly, my marriage with the death of my father, in time), enjoys visiting the
cemetery (The smell of corpses, distinctly perceptible under those of grass and humus
mingled, I do not find unpleasant, a trifle on the sweet side perhaps, a trifle heady, but how
infinitely preferable to what the living emit, their feet, teeth, armpits, arses, sticky foreskins
and frustrated ovules), he enjoys there everyday activities ( My sandwich, my banana, taste
sweeter when I'm sitting on a tomb, and when the time comes to piss again, as it so
- often does, I have my pick), makes up his own epitaph (Hereunder lies the above who up
below So hourly died that he lived on till now.), then he describes various cemeteries (But my
father’s yard was not among my favourites. To begin with it was too remote, way out in the
wilds of the country on the side of a hill, and too small, far too small, to go on with. Indeed, it
was almost full, a few more widows and they’d be turning them away. I infinitely preferred
Ohlsdorf, particularly the Linne section, on Prussian soil, with its nine hundred acres of
corpses packed tight, though I knew no one there, except by reputation the wild animal
collector Hagenbeck.), and his situation why he doesn’t live in house anymore (But to pass on
to less melancholy matters, on my father’s death I had to leave the house. It was he who
wanted me in the house. He should have left me the entire house, then I’d have been all right,
the others too for that matter, I’d have summoned them and said, Stay, stay by all means, your
home is here. With regard to the money it is only fair to say they gave it to me without delay,
on the very day following the inhumation. Perhaps they were legally bound to. I said to them,
Keep this money and let me live on here, in my room, as in Papa’s lifetime. I added, God rest
his soul, in the hope of melting them. But they refused. I offered to place myself at their
disposal, a few hours every day, for the little odd maintenance jobs every dwelling requires, if
it is not to crumble away. But they refused. One day, on my return from stool, I found my
room locked and my belongings in a heap before the door. I left the house, but none yielded. I
think if I’d found one open I’d have barricaded myself in the room, nothing less than gas
would have dislodged me. I felt the house crammed as usual, the usual pack, but saw no one. I
imagined them in their various rooms, all bolts drawn, every sense on the alert. Then the rush
to the window, each holding back a little, hidden by the curtain, at the sound of the street door
closing behind me, I should have left it open. Then the doors fly open and out they pour, men,
 women and children, and the voices, the sighs, the smiles, the hands, the keys in the hands, the
blessed relief, the precautions rehearsed, if this then that, but if that then this, all clear and joy
in every heart, come let’s eat, the fumigation can wait. ) and his relationship with his father
(He was a strange man. One day he said, Leave him alone, he’s not disturbing anyone. He
didn’t know I was listening. This was a view he must have often voiced, but the other times I
wasn’t by. They would never let me see his will, they simply said he had left me such a sum. I
believed then and still believe he had stipulated in his will that I be left the room I had
occupied in his lifetime and food brought me there, as hitherto. He may even have given this
the force of condition precedent. Presumably he liked to feel me under his roof, otherwise he
would not have opposed my eviction. Perhaps he merely pitied me. But somehow, I think not.
Yes, he was properly had, my poor father, if his purpose was really to go on protecting me
from beyond the tomb. My father and I alone, in that household, understood tomatoes.)
- the narrator is mentally challenged (It’s all a muddle in my head, graves and nuptials and the
different varieties of motion.)
- he continues describing his encounter with Lulu (But to pass on to less melancholy matters,
the name of the woman with whom I was soon to be united was Lulu. So at least she assured
me and I can’t see what interest she could have had in lying to me, on this score. I met her on
a bench, on the bank of the canal, one of the canals, for our town boasts two, though I never
knew which was which. And yet she surprised me. I lay stretched out, the night being warm,
gazing up through the bare boughs interlocking high above me, where the trees clung together
for support, and through the drifting cloud, at a patch of starry sky as it came and went. Shove
up, she said. My first movement was to go, but my fatigue, and my having nowhere to go,
dissuaded me from acting on it. So I drew back my feet a little way and she sat. Nothing more
passed between us that evening and she soon took herself off, without another word.) and
describing her (All she had done was sing… some old folk songs, and so disjointedly,
skipping from one to another and finishing none, that even I found it strange… The voice,
though out of tune, was not unpleasant. Whereas in reality she was a most tenacious woman.)
- he continues telling their story (She came back next day and the day after and all went off
more or less as before. I asked her if she was resolved to disturb me every evening. I disturb
you? she said. I thought we were easy, she said. You disturb me, I said, I can’t stretch out with
you there. Must you stretch out? she said. The mistake one makes is to speak to people. You
have only to put your feet on my knees, she said. I [22] didn’t wait to be asked twice, under
my miserable calves I felt her fat thighs. She began stroking my ankles. I considered kicking
her in the cunt.), what he has done with money (Yes, in the daytime I foraged for food and
marked down likely cover. Were you to inquire, as undoubtedly you itch, what I had done
with the money my father had left me, the answer would be I had done nothing with it but
leave it lie in my pocket. For I knew I would not be always young, and that summer does not
last for ever either, nor even autumn, my mean soul told me so.), he talks about what annoys
him (She disturbed me exceedingly, even absent. Indeed she still disturbs me, but no worse
now than the rest. And it matters nothing to me now, to be disturbed, or so little, what does it
mean, disturbed, and what would I do with myself if I wasn’t? So you don’t want me to come
any more, she said. It’s incredible the way they repeat what you’ve just said to them, as if they
risked faggot and fire in believing their ears.), continues with talking about what he
understand and doesn’t understand (I didn’t understand women at that period. I still don’t for
that matter. Nor men either. Nor animals either. What I understand best, which is not saying
much, are my pains. I think them through daily, it doesn’t take long, thought moves so fast,
but they are not only in my thought, not all. Yes, there are moments, particularlyin the
afternoon, when I go all syncretist, a la Reinhold. What equilibrium! But even them, my pains,
I understand ill.), he then tells Lulu to come at odd time (Next of course she desired to know
what I meant by the odd time, that’s what you get for opening your mouth. Once a week?
 Once in ten days? Once a fortnight? I replied less often, far less often, less often to the point of
no more if she could, and if she could not the least often possible.)
- he abandons bench and move to a deserted cowshed, speculate about love (Yes, I loved her,
it’s the name I gave, still give alas, to what I was doing then. I had nothing to go by, having
never loved before, but of course had heard of the thing, at home, in school, in brothel and at
church, and read romances, in prose and verse, under the guidance of my tutor, in six or seven
languages, both dead and living, in which it was handled at length. Love brings out the worst
in man and no error. But what kind of love was this, exactly? Love-passion? Somehow I think
not. That’s the priapic one, is it not? Or is this a different variety? There are so many, are there
not? All equally if not more delicious, are they not? Platonic love, for example, there’s
anotherjust occurs to me. It’s disinterested. Perhaps I loved her with a platonic love? But
somehow I think not. Would I have been tracing her name in old cowshit if my love had been
pure and disinterested?), his complex relationship with her (My thoughts were all of Lulu, if
that doesn’t give you some idea nothing will. Anyhow I’m sick and tired of this name Lulu,
I’ll give her another, more like her, Anna for example, it’s not more like her but no matter. I
thought of Anna then, I who had learnt to think of nothing, nothing except my pains …)
- he returns then back to his old bench and meets with Lulu/Anna (The next day I was earlier to
the bench, much earlier…and yet too late, for she was there already, on the bench… I told you
she was a highly tenacious woman. I felt nothing. What interest could she have in pursuing me
thus? I asked her, without sitting down, stumping to and fro. The cold had embossed the path.
She replied she didn’t know. What could she see in me, would she kindly tell me that at least,
if she could. She replied she couldn’t… As I looked at this muff, I remember, tears came to
my eyes. ) (Shapeless, ageless, almost lifeless, it might have been anything or anyone, an old
woman or a little girl. And the way she kept on saying, I don’t know, I can’t. I alone did not
know and could not. Is it on my account you came? I said. She managed yes to that. Well here
I am, I said. And I? Had I not come on hers? Here we are, I said. But before going, to be on
the safe side, I asked her to sing me a song… I thought at first she was going to refuse, I mean
simply not sing, but no, after a moment she began to sing and sang for some time… Then I
started to go…), leaves and returns to bench (But some weeks later, even more dead than alive
than usual, I returned to the bench, for the fourth or fifth time since I had abandoned it… She
wasn’t there, then suddenly she was…I asked if she came every evening. No, she said, just the
odd time.), moves to Lulu/Anna´s room (… when she said she had a room… She said she had
two rooms and a kitchen… I asked her why she had not told me before. I must have been
beside myself, at this period. I did not feel easy when I was with her… She said I should have
fetched my things. I explained I had no things. It was at the top of an old house, with a view of
the mountains for those who cared.), have intimate moment with Lulu/Anna (She began to
undress. Will you not undress? she said. Oh you know, I said, I seldom undress. We went via
the kitchen… I began putting out the furniture through the door to the corridor. She watched,
in sorrow I suppose, but not necessarily. She asked me what I was doing… I heard her steps in
the kitchen and then the door of her room close behind her. I thought I was all set for a good
night, in spite of the strange surroundings, but no, my night was most agitated. I woke next
morning quite worn out, my clothes in disorder, the blanket likewise, and Anna beside me,
naked naturally. It was my night of love.) and begins to reorganize the room (Finally the room
was empty but for a sofa and some shelves fixed to the wall. The former I dragged to the back
of the room, near the door, and next day took down the latter and put them out, in the corridor,
with the rest. I suddenly rose and changed the position of the sofa, that is to say turned it
round so that the back, hitherto against the wall, was now on the outside and consequently the
front, or way in, on the inside. Then I climbed back, like a dog into its basket. I’ll leave you
the lamp, she said, but I begged her to take it with her.)
- at the end he describes his living in Anna´s room (Gradually I settled down, in this house. She
brought my meals at the appointed hours, looked in now and then to see if all was well and
 make sure I needed nothing, emptied the stewpan once a day and did out the room once a
month.). listening to strange noises indicating what Lulu does for living (r. I was more
seriously disturbed by other sounds, stifled giggles and groans, which filled the dwelling at
certain hours of the night, and even of the day. So a fat lot of help it was when, having put the
question to her, I was told they were clients she received in rotation. So you live by
prostitution, I said. We live by prostitution, she said.)
- Lulu reveals that she is pregnant (One day she had the impudence to announce she was with
child, and four or five months gone into the bargain, by me of all people! She offered me a
side view of her belly. She even undressed, no doubt to prove she wasn’t hiding a cushion
under her skirt, and then of course for the pure pleasure of undressing. Perhaps it’s just wind, I
said, by way of consolation. Look, she said, stooping over her breasts, the haloes are
darkening already. I summoned up my remaining strength and said, Abort, abort, and they’ll
blush like new.) and how it all ended- Lulu´s birth and narrator leaving her (From that day
forth things went from bad to worse, to worse and worse. Not that she neglected me, she could
never have neglected me enough, but the way she kept plaguing me with our child, exhibiting
her belly and breasts and saying it was due any moment, she could feel it lepping already. If
it’s lepping, I said, it’s not mine. I hesitated to leave, the leaves were falling already, I dreaded
the winter. What finished me was the birth. It woke me up. What that infant must have been
going through! I fancy she had a woman with her, I seemed to hear steps in the kitchen, on
and off. It went to my heart to leave a house without being put out. A mass of junk barred my
way, but I scrabbled and barged my way through it in the end, regardless of the datter. I used
the word marriage, it was a kind of union in spite of all. I stopped before the house door and
listened. I could still hear them. If I had not known there was crying in the house I might not
have heard them. But knowing it I did… I was not sure where I was. I looked among the stars
and constellations for the Wains, but could not find them. And yet they must have been there.
My father was the first to show them to me. As long as I kept walking I didn’t hear them,
because of the footsteps. But as soon as I halted I heard them again, a little fainter each time,
admittedly, but what does it matter, faint or loud, cry is cry, all that matters is that it should
cease. For years I thought they would cease. Now I don’t think so any more. I could have done
with other loves perhaps. But there it is, either you love or you don’t.)

- relationship with Lulu/Anna:

o One day I asked her to bring me a hyacinth, live, in a pot. She brought it and put it on
the mantelpiece, now the only place in my room to put things, unless you put them on
the floor. Not a day passed without my looking at it. At first all went well, it even put
forth a bloom or two, then it gave up and was soon no more than a limp stem hung
with limp leaves. The bulb, half clear of the clay as though in search of oxygen, smelt
foul. She wanted to remove it, but I told her to leave it. She wanted to get me another,
but I told her I didn’t want another.
o I admired in spite of the dark, in spite of my fluster, the way still or scarcely flowing
water reaches up, as though athirst, to that falling from the sky. She asked if I would
like her to sing something. I replied no, I would like her to say something.
- relationship with his father:
o He was a strange man. One day he said, Leave him alone, he’s not disturbing anyone.
He didn’t know I was listening. This was a view he must have often voiced, but the
other times I wasn’t by.
o They would never let me see his will, they simply said he had left me such a sum. I
believed then and still believe he had stipulated in his will that I be left the room I had
 occupied in his lifetime and food brought me there, as hitherto. He may even have
given this the force of condition precedent.
o Presumably he liked to feel me under his roof, otherwise he would not have opposed
my eviction. Perhaps he merely pitied me. But somehow, I think not. Yes, he was
properly had, my poor father, if his purpose was really to go on protecting me from
beyond the tomb.
o My father and I alone, in that household, understood tomatoes.
o I was not sure where I was. I looked among the stars and constellations for the Wains,
but could not find them. And yet they must have been there. My father was the first to
show them to me.
o I said to them, Keep this money and let me live on here, in my room, as in Papa’s
lifetime… Poor Papa, a nice mug he must have felt that day if he could see me, see us,
a nice mug on my account I mean. Unless in his great disembodied wisdom he saw
further than his son whose corpse was not yet quite up to scratch.

Yet Beckett’s relation to philosophy is difficult and complex. He was not a philosopher; if he
had been, he would not have needed to engage with art. As an author, he strongly resisted
every attempt to impose any philosophical interpretation or meaning on his work. Beckett’s
answer to philosophy is to refuse it, give it a ‘kick in the arse’. His use of ideas is always
accompanied by reticence, ambiguity, and humorous deflationary counterpoint. Ideas are
presented somehow as magnificent edifices that stand apart from the miserable small-
mindedness of the human condition. Ideas console, edify, bemuse and entertain, but they are
always also misrepresentations, illusions, exaggerations, blinkers, detours that take us blithely
beyond the real and pathetic circumstances of our own condition.Thought is a pleasant
distraction, but it essentially misleads. Beckett compounded this refusal to interpret his own
work philosophically by claiming not to understand philosophers:‘I never understand
anything they write.’ And again he wrote:‘I am not a philosopher. One can only speak of what
is in front of him, and that is simply a mess.’