1. “A Seething Presence”: The Spectre of Ireland
upon the theatrical and fictional prose of
Samuel Beckett.
James L. Dunne
M.A. in English 2013
University of Limerick
Supervisor: Professor Margaret Mills-Harper
Submitted to the University of Limerick,
September 2013

2. “A Seething Presence”: The Spectre of Ireland upon the theatrical and fictional prose of
Samuel Beckett
James L. Dunne
Abstract
This thesis aims to examine the spectral influences of Ireland upon selected theatrical and
fictional prose works of Samuel Beckett. In particular, I will examine instances within
Beckett’s work where the island of Ireland, and its associated cultures and history, exerts an
influence. Using the theoretical work of Avery F. Gordon, I will argue that Ireland’s
influence within the author’s work manifests in a largely unseen and subtle manner, as
though a spectre or shadow. Quite often, it is the faint traces, or indeed the complete
omission, of elements from his native country within his work that impact upont it most.
In the formulation of this argument, I will examine pieces of theatre and prose from
Samuel Beckett’s oeuvre. These will include All That Fall (1957), Company (1980),
Endgame (1958), Krapp’s Last Tape (1958), Murphy (1938) and Waiting for Godot (1952).
Through assessing such a variety of the author’s works, I aim to convey how profoundly the
spectre of Ireland affects Beckett, remaining an underlying issue in his works throughout his
career. Each chapter of this thesis will investigate a specific aspect of this Irish resonance: 1)
politics, including the politics of the post-independence status of the Anglo-Irish classes, 2)
the Irish landscape, and 3) language and translation. By examining these three areas in
specific relation to the idea of an “Irish Spectre,” I hope to add to the recent criticism
analysing the largely “unseen” influence Beckett’s native land imparted upon his works.

3. i
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements (ii)
Dedication (iii)
Author’s Declaration (iv)
Introduction 1
Chapter One: Underlying Traces of an Irish Political Context 4
Chapter Two: Spectres of an Irish Landscape 19
Chapter Three: Irish Influences upon Language and Translation 35
Conclusion 51
Bibliography 53

4. ii
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I would like to thank my supervisor Professor Margaret Mills-Harper for all her help
and patience over the past few months. Her support and input was truly invaluable in helping
me to write this thesis, and I could not have asked for a friendlier or more accessible
supervisor. She helped me to realise my full potential in terms of researching and writing
about my topic, and the insights she offered benefited me immensely. I would also like to
extend my gratitude to the M.A. Course Director Dr. Patricia Moran, and the entire English
Department, for their help and support during what was an extremely enjoyable year.
Secondly, I would like to extend my sincere thanks to my family, especially my
parents Peter and Mary, and sister Elaine. They have given me incredible support and
encouragement not only in the past year, but throughout my entire life, and without them I
would definitely not be in the position I am today. They were always on hand to proof-read
assignments and offer support (especially financially!), and I am eternally grateful for all they
have done for me.
Finally, I would like to thank all my friends, especially those I have made this year in
Limerick. They have been amazing in the help they have given in terms of coursework and
otherwise, and I have no doubt that I have made friendships that will last long into the future.

5. iii
Dedications
For my parents Peter and Mary, and my sister Elaine.
I am eternally grateful for the opportunities you have given me throughout my life, and for
supporting me in my education to this point. Without your continuous help and
encouragement none of this would have ever been possible.
Also for my Grandparents Jimmy, Mary and Bridget, who have helped and supported me all
my life. I am eternally grateful.

6. iv
Author’s Declaration
I hereby declare that this project is entirely my own work, in my own words, and that all
sources used in researching it are fully acknowledged and all quotations properly identified. It
has not been submitted, in whole or in part, by me or another person, for the purpose of
obtaining any other credit/grade.
Signed: _____________
Date: _____________

7. 1
Introduction
The troubled and complex relationship between Samuel Beckett and his native Ireland craves
critical examination. Born in 1906 to an upper middle-class, Anglo- Irish family in the
affluent Dublin suburb of Foxrock, Beckett and his family remained largely detached from
the typical lifestyle of the majority Catholic population of Ireland. However, he grew up
during a turbulent period in Irish history, witnessing the practical destruction of Dublin city
in 1916, the subsequent War of Independence, the ensuing Civil War, and the formulation of
the Irish Free State. Such historical events affected Anglo- Irish families like the Becketts
profoundly, and by the mid 1920s they had become a precarious minority in a newly
emergent country, desperate to assert its nationhood. Beckett did not remain resident in
Ireland for long: following his studies in Trinity College Dublin, he promptly left Ireland for
other European destinations. Despite infrequent returns to the country of his birth, Beckett
never fully returned to live in Ireland, eventually adopting France as his new home.
Considering the prominent role Ireland plays in the biographical construction of
Beckett, this thesis attempts to examine the troubled and complex relationship the author had
with his native land. The author and playwright had a confused relationship with Ireland, a
relationship which manifested itself within much of his writing. Many critics have argued that
a certain degree of “Irishness” exists in much of the work Beckett produced, an assumption
which would undoubtedly not be shared by the famously elusive figure who defied contextual
definition. Beckett remained a notoriously complex artist through much of his life, refusing to
impart definite meaning or reason to much of his work.

8. 2
In spite of this, many of Beckett’s most famous pieces, and indeed some of his lesser
known works, contain elements which critics such as Sean Kennedy and Emile Morin argue
to have a certain “spectre” of Irishness. The use of the term “spectre” is both deliberate and
crucially important, as it is often a subject’s absence rather than presence which is felt within
Beckett’s work. Avery F. Gordon describes this spectral haunting within an author’s work as
a “seething presence” (8) that is felt throughout the piece. Syntactical and thematic
constructions exist within much of Beckett’s work which do not explicitly alert the reader to
an Irish presence, but rather to a shadow of “Irishness”. This is not to argue that specific
allusions to Ireland do not exist. Rather, considering explicit references to Ireland in relation
to the more subtle or less tenuous connections, readings of Beckett’s works can focus upon a
spectre of Ireland which affects the representations and fundamental constructions of his
plays and prose.
In probing the existence of such a spectre within the works of Beckett, three specific
areas emerge which warrant close investigation. These areas include: 1) Representations of
Beckett’s political detachment from Ireland in his work, 2) The influences of Ireland upon the
landscapes of Beckett’s works, and 3) The impacts of language and translation upon traces of
Ireland within Beckett’s work. Although all of these areas intersect and overlap at different
points, they all also remain independent areas of investigation when considering Ireland’s
shadow on Beckett’s work.
Considering the manner through which Ireland is represented in these three specific
areas is the paramount goal of this thesis. The idea of representation itself is a hotly contested
topic in terms of Beckettian studies. In contesting that elements containing traces of a certain
degree of “Irishness” exist within Beckett’s work, the manner through which they are
represented within the text is crucial to identify. Through identification of the representative
modes used, the style of representation can then be analysed, and its merits determined.

9. 3
Representation, or indeed the notion of non-representation, is pivotal in examining Beckett,
as he asserted that “the artist’s duty [is] to express the totality and complexity of his
experience regardless of the public’s lazy demand for easy comprehensibility” (qtd. in Esslin,
30). Recognising the fundamental instability of representation is a vital aspect of studying
Beckett, as is the disorientating habit in his work of suddenly shifting. Establishing incidents
of representation in relation to an Irish context is one of the fundamental objectives of this
thesis. Through this, further speculation upon the true impact of a distinctly Irish context can
be promoted.
Examining Beckett’s relationship with Ireland and its spectral manifestation within
his work cannot be considered as a definitive interpretation of his works. Indeed, critics tend
to agree that the consideration of Beckett’s work from a singular context is counter-
productive, perhaps even reductive. Instead, considering Beckett’s work from an Irish
perspective is an exercise designed to add to the oeuvre of criticism upon Beckett. As Emile
Morin argues, “While labels such as Irish, French and European are largely born out of
attempts to domesticate a work that escapes generic identification, they also offer points of
friction that are germane to critical enquiry” (161).
Furthermore, identifying and discussing both the spectral and explicit references to Ireland
within Beckett’s works are not intended as rigid interpretations of authorial intentions.
Rather, my purpose is to contribute to the discourse surrounding Samuel Beckett and his
works, and inspire new grounds of critical enquiry.

10. 4
Chapter One: Underlying Traces of an Irish Political Context
When examining certain influences of Ireland upon the works of Samuel Beckett, the
political context of Beckett’s upbringing is a crucial area to consider. The social context of
Beckett’s upbringing was markedly different to the primary demographic in Ireland at the
time. Being a member of the Anglo- Irish Protestant middle-class was not strictly
unconventional, but it was not what the majority of people in Ireland considered Irish to be.
Conor Cruise O’Brien categorically demarcates these tiers of “Irishness”:
By ‘the Irish race’ is meant, as far as Ireland is concerned: Primarily, people of
native Irish stock, descended from Gaelic speakers, professing the Catholic religion,
and holding some form of the general political opinions held by most people of this
origin and religion.
Secondarily, people of settler stock in Ireland, and Protestant religion: to the
extent that these cast in their lot with people in the first category, culturally or
politically, or preferably both. (qtd. in Watson 18)
Although it is clear that the Anglo-Irish class occupied a distinctively “secondary”
class in terms of Irish identity, G. J. Watson argues that “This community was numerically
small, even insignificant, in relation to the majority population, but very powerful” (27). The
profoundly greater influence they retained was due in no small part to the Penal Laws enacted
in Ireland between 1695 and 1727, which restricted Catholics immensely in terms of
ownership and social ascension. Through their exemption from such restrictions, the Anglo-
Irish Protestant classes assumed a stranglehold upon professions, land ownership, and
politics, assuring their supposed allegiance with the British colonisers in the eyes the Irish
Catholic majority (Watson 27). The subsequent creation of the Irish Free State in 1922
complicated the status of many families such as the Becketts however, as many Anglo-Irish

11. 5
Protestants now found themselves a minority in a country governed by those who saw them
as a potential threat to the aspirations of the new state.
In addition to Beckett’s complicated heritage, the politics of the newly created Irish
Free State had huge implications for the young writer’s works. An increased conservatism
promoted through both governmental and religious organizations, coupled with a concerted
effort to establish the “official” history of the nation through theatre and prose, suggests that
the writings of artists such as Beckett became heavily influenced by the political concerns of
Ireland. This influence did not manifest itself through promotion of these conservative efforts
however, but rather meant that the artist’s works became heavily laden with both explicit and
implicit traces of the political context under which his work was cultivated.
Traces of an Irish Protestant
In his book Beckett/Beckett, Vivian Mercier proclaims that to call Samuel Beckett an
Irish writer “involves some semantic slight of hand” (21). Mercier’s description of the figure
of Beckett proves particularly apt in ascertaining the influence of political context upon his
work. Beckett was a member of the Protestant suburban middle-class, which means that he
and his family lived in relative isolation from the majority Catholic working-class, both
socially and geographically. This isolation was further strengthened through the creation of
the Irish Free State. Mercier notes the ambiguity in being of Protestant descent in Ireland at
this period (29), recalling the difficulty of trying to assert one’s identity and heritage in an
increasingly nationalist environment where the newly created Irish government was trying to
affirm a nationhood unique from its previously colonised identity. Kennedy describes the
Protestant situation in Ireland after the birth of the Free State as a kind of self-exile from
society, removing themselves from the everyday workings of the nation in a kind of “social
apartheid by mutual consent” (“Beckett and Ireland” 100).

12. 6
Much of this Protestant fear and confusion at the birth of a new political system in a
country in which they had traditionally retained power is embodied within Beckett’s plays
and prose. Beckett’s play All That Fall (1957), written specifically for radio, is perhaps the
most explicit example of such concerns. The Anglo-Irish heritage of the characters portrayed
is conveyed through their dialogue, in particular Mrs. Fitt proclaiming that helping Mrs.
Rooney is indeed “the Protestant thing to do” (All That Fall 23). Such passages alert the
audience to the performative nature identity assumes within the fictional town of Boghill,
presumably located within the Irish Free State. Through their actions, the characters assert
their identity; in this case, Mrs. Fitt deems it necessary to aid the finicky Mrs. Rooney in the
name of the Christian charity crucial to the formation of her identity. Protestant identity in the
midst of political turmoil is further explored through Mrs. Rooney proclaiming, “It is suicide
to be abroad. But what is it to be at home, Mr. Tyler, what is it to be at home? A lingering
dissolution” (All That Fall 15). The Anglo-Irish population have suddenly found themselves
displaced in terms of political and social status in Ireland, and they find their old way of life
slowly dissolving before them.
Emily C. Bloom recognises deeper performative implications in the portrayal of the
Protestant minority of the newly created Irish Free State. In particular, with the resurgence of
an identity perceived to be truly “Irish” in the early parts of the twentieth century through
stage productions of the Revival, the identity of the Anglo-Irish population became
marginalised. Historically, Bloom notes, members of the Anglo-Irish community were forced
into silence through events of the War of Independence and the Civil War. The
disempowered minority placed a fundamental emphasis on silence in regards to political
upheavals, a silence which seemed to push them beyond the boundaries of representation into
non-performativity (4). This silence was inspired most likely through fear of attack, such was
their status as remnants of the colonial era, but the subsequent omission of this social group

13. 7
from literary and theatrical production meant that the Anglo-Irish identity had become
fundamentally detached from any portrayals of Irishness, and ultimately trivialised in itself.
Within All That Fall, Beckett appears to be taking an uncharacteristically political
approach towards dispelling this trend of Protestant non-performativity onstage. Such
explicitness on matters of a political and social nature was uncommon for Beckett.
McNaughton recognises Beckett’s distrust in becoming engaged in politically motivated
arguments, as he was torn between the need to address restrictions upon liberty and avoiding
the nature of political arguments for their fundamental short-sightedness (61). Within All
That Fall however, Beckett is explicit in addressing the negated identity Protestants seemed
to assume within the realms of the Free State, the apparent removal of the Anglo-Irish
Protestant from representations of an “Irish” identity into the margins of representation.
Bloom attests that “many critics connect Beckett’s narrative strategies of silence,
disempowerment, alienation, loss, empty gesture and instability to his Protestant identity
during the historical period when his community lost the power conferred by their association
within English rule” (9). The progression of the play makes it clear that Beckett is giving a
voice to this “muted” community within Ireland, as the character’s narratives move towards a
gradual realisation of the altered state of affairs. Mrs. Rooney alludes to the newly created
political boundaries that have been created, proclaiming, “Now we are the laughing-stock of
the twenty-six counties. Or is it thirty-six?” (24). Such statements highlight the Protestant
disjuncture from the major political shifts occurring and gives a perspective that differs from
the dominant nationalist version. Beckett addresses the marginalisation of the Anglo-Irish and
Protestant community in this manner, and injects their perspective into the political discourse
of Ireland.
This sense of political confusion is not confined to All That Fall. Other works within
Beckett’s oeuvre contain elements mirroring the sense of disjuncture felt by the Protestant

14. 8
community in Ireland at the beginning of the twentieth century. The static relationship which
exists between Hamm and Clov in Endgame (1958) contains traces of change and confusion
which evoked, though more subtly, the compromised status of the Anglo-Irish community
within the Irish Free State. Although the outside world of Endgame is first thought to be
completely inhospitable to all life, the apparent presence of a young boy on the horizon
signals a possibility for growth and “a potential procreator” (Endgame 46). Clov’s vision of
life outside their decaying house seems to contradict Hamm’s all-encompassing narrative of
death and decline. Hamm acts quickly to force closure upon the possibility of a new narrative
that Clov’s sighting has offered, announcing “we’ve come to the end” (Endgame 47) before it
can spiral from his control. Considering Hamm and Clov’s situation from an Irish
perspective, it could be argued that the appearance of the young boy upon the horizon
embodies the newly emergent order of the Irish Free State. Indeed, whilst Clov perceives him
as “a potential procreator” (Endgame 46), it appears that Hamm conceives of him as a threat
that must either join their system or perish: “If he exists he’ll die there or he’ll come here”
(Endgame 47). Some kind of end to Hamm and Clov’s situation is signalled by the
appearance of the boy (Esslin 72/73), but it is unclear whether it is merely the end of the
specific power dynamic present between these two characters or a larger political system.
A distinctly post- colonial reading of the play can be drawn through Irish
considerations of the play; Hamm taken to embody the Anglo-Irish ruling class and Clov
portraying the governed Catholic working-class majority. Such a reading is strengthened
through certain passages which suggest that Hamm has taught Clov the language he speaks:
“I use the words you taught me. If they don’t mean anything any more, teach me others. Or
let me be silent” (Endgame 28). Through Hamm’s extended recollections, the narrative also
evokes images that could be linked to events of the Irish famine. Hamm assumes the
stereotypical role of a rich Anglo-Irish landlord in these recollections, recounting how a man

15. 9
begged for food from him in desperation, “Well to make it short it finally transpired that what
he wanted from me was... bread for his brat” (Endgame 32). Through this passage, Hamm
assumes the somewhat stereotypical role of an Anglo-Irish landlord, committed to an old
social order, and peering fearfully from the crumbling ruins of the world in which they have
lived their lives, at the beginning of a new order he is unwilling to join.
The Landscape of the Irish Literary Revival
The omission of the Protestant experience was not the sole area of conflict that
emerged between Beckett and the politics of the Irish Literary Revival. From an artistic
perspective, the goals and aspirations of the Irish Revival movement were not congruent with
Beckett’s artistic ideals. During the Irish Revival of the early twentieth century, a large
emphasis was placed upon notions of a romanticised, picturesque Irish landscape. These
representations had distinct political motivations, as the artists involved in the resurrection of
a culture they deemed to be Irish sought to restore iconic representations of a virginal, rural
Ireland (Morin 100). This idea was based on a perception of Ireland which was meant to be
anti-materialistic and morally superior to other, more modernised European landscapes. The
image of archaic Ireland and the simple peasant held great appeal for writers within the Irish
Literary Revival, as the vulgarity of English modernity could be juxtaposed with a morally
superior Irish landscape (Watson 23). Indeed, it was the active promotion of such landscape
ideals which later influenced political leaders such as Eamon DeValera in their governance
and vision of what shape the newly independent Ireland should assume.
Beckett refused to subscribe to this politically motivated artistic focus upon the past.
Much of Beckett’s disdain towards the ideals of the Revival stemmed from the disingenuous
goals on which he perceived their art to be based. The goals of the Revival were, according to
Beckett, emblematic of a “flight from self-awareness” (Kennedy 4). This flight from self-

16. 10
awareness directly contradicted the true goals of the artist in Beckett’s mind. Beckett believed
that the active promotion and resurgence of antique stories and Celtic myths in order to create
an “Irish” identity allowed political matters to compromise the actual texts produced. In
contrast to this apparent flight from the self which the Revivalists championed, Kearney
asserts, Beckett’s manifesto was drastically different: “Rather than losing himself in antique
lore, the artist must cut the cords that tie him to the world that shaped him, to his nation, his
family, his tradition” (59). Through their obsession with creating narratives based upon
ancient stories believed to be emblematic of the Irish nation, Beckett felt these authors and
playwrights were not only betraying the artistic idea of the self, but actively fleeing from it.
Beckett appears to have considered such contextual influences as inhibitory to the artist, and
rejected notions of art being positively influenced through reference to political aspects which
are perceived to be part of a shared national identity.
In spite of this, Beckett did not ignore such political intrusions upon art but
explicitly addressed the problem in his texts. Beckett’s third work of prose fiction, Murphy
(1938), is a piece which juxtaposes the protagonist Murphy’s life of exile in London with his
native Ireland. Bixby argues that, although the reasons for Murphy’s move to London are
never fully revealed, it is implied that his emigration was an attempt to escape the social and
political norms of Ireland (80). It is also inferred that Murphy’s move to London was an
attempt to escape the attentions of Mrs. Counihan. Bixby notes that the name Mrs. Counihan
has distinct associations with that of Cathleen Ní Houlihan, the Yeatsian character and the
nationalist embodiment of “mother Ireland” (80), meaning that escape from the political
context of Ireland forms a fundamental thematic undercurrent. Comparing the landscape of
London with the landscape of Ireland, which was literally and ideologically different, Beckett
creates a representational contrast between two political structures. This juxtaposition of
landscapes serves to satirise the traditional and archaic image of Ireland political figures like

17. 11
DeValera were trying to foster, in stark opposition to the modernised and industrialised
London. Portrayals of Ireland’s landscapes undoubtedly critique the fetishisation of romantic
nationalist ideologies promoted through both the Irish Revival and leaders of the Free State.
It is these ideologies Neary attacks in his symbolic act towards the statue of Cuchulain in the
GPO (Murphy 29). Bixby argues that this incident where Neary “seized the dying hero by the
thighs and began to dash his head against his buttocks” (Murphy 29) serves as a form of
dissent against the fixed identities and homogenised landscape political and religious leaders
attempted to create in post-colonial Ireland. It can also be perceived as a portrayal of the
author’s frustration towards the artistic backwardness he considered central to the Irish
Revival, the trend of relying upon ancient myths to create new forms of both artistry and
identity. In contrast to the transcendental and mystical qualities Celtic heroes were endowed
with in pieces such as Yeat’s The Wanderings of Oisin (1889) (Flannery 88), Beckett’s
characters treat Celtic myths with distaste and irreverence, alerting the reader to their status
as pieces of political idolatry. Beckett presents us with an image of mockery towards the
tradition of heroism and self-sacrifice perceived to be intrinsic to the new Irish political
landscape, an act of condemnation against a landscape of politically motivated nationalist
commemoration through art (Morin 49).
Beckett’s disapproval of the homogenised and conservative Irish Free State did not
manifest itself solely through his prose and theatre. Much of the criticism he held for the
political aspects of Ireland can be witnessed through Beckett’s extensive correspondence with
Thomas MacGreevy, one of the author’s foremost confidantes. MacGreevy emerges as one of
the only poets Beckett unequivocally praises in his early publication Recent Irish Poetry
(1934), yet the pair carried a “complicated dialogue” (Mays, qtd. in Kennedy “Beckett
Reviewing MacGreevy: A Reconsideration” 273). Kennedy identifies the main source of the
tension between Beckett and MacGreevy as “arising from their different attitudes towards

18. 12
religious faith” (273). As such, the relationship between Beckett and MacGreevy is
particularly indicative of Beckett’s relationship with the politics of Ireland as a whole, given
that MacGreevy came to represent, for Beckett, the ultra-conservative, Catholic face of the
new Ireland.
Morin recognises that much of Beckett’s correspondence with MacGreevy
throughout the 1930s revealed that the naturalistic and archaic modes of representation
championed by the early Revival did not appeal to him (103). The tension that existed within
the correspondence between Beckett and MacGreevy stemmed from Beckett’s disapproval of
the Revival’s habit of employing romanticised pastoral versions of Ireland and the part they
played in creating a homogenised and ultimately unfaithful image of Ireland. McKee
recognises Beckett’s abhorrence of this style of writing, stating that Recent Irish Poetry, his
published review essay, was a platform from which Beckett argues that participants of the
Irish Revival were prone to imagine Irishness in overly conventional terms, and to place more
importance upon this notion of identity rather than the actual individuals implicit within it:
“Recent Irish Poetry represents Beckett’s most explicit attempt to repudiate an Irish form of
cultural nationalism that elevated the object above the subject and thereby encouraged an
impersonal mode of expression that denied the status of the individual” (McKee 45).
Cyclical Stasis
In his paper considering Beckett’s reviews of MacGreevy’s works, Kennedy notes
that it was not merely the Irish Revivalist’s artistic style which troubled Beckett. The political
landscape which was created following the establishment of the Irish Free State was one of
staunch conservatism, largely influenced by the power of the Catholic Church in the country.
As a result, many of the efforts to create an identity of the new Ireland were rooted in
Catholic rhetoric, which did not sit well with Beckett’s “impatience with religious

19. 13
orthodoxy” (Kennedy “Beckett Reviewing MacGreevy: A Reconsideration” 277). In
particular, Kennedy recognises that MacGreevy’s work throughout the 1930s contained
instances of crude sectarianism (277). Such content was based upon drawing blatant divisions
between Catholics and Protestants, marginalising many individuals due to their religious
identity. It appears that this religious and political identity MacGreevy appears to have
assumed “prevented him from fully realizing the radical potential of a new, experimental
poetics” (Kennedy “Beckett Reviewing MacGreevy: A Reconsideration” 282) in the eyes of
Beckett. Beckett believed in the need for the artist to sever the ties between an individual’s
art and the notion of a homogenised identity, and that failure to do so can ultimately lead to a
lack of artistic progression.
The emergent political landscape within Ireland created a series of debates amongst
artists such as Beckett who were considered to be modernist. In his essay “The politics of
aftermath: Beckett, modernism, and the Irish Free State”, James McNaughton draws
particular attention to the political debates that revolved around the emergent revolutions
occurring throughout Europe in the early parts of the twentieth century. Particular attention is
given to Beckett’s response to a questionnaire compiled by the Left Review entitled “Author’s
Takes Sides of the Spanish Civil War”. Beckett’s brief reply, “¡UPTHEREPUBLIC!” can be
read as both a reply to the events of the Spanish Civil War and also the earlier revolutionary
battles of Ireland (McNaughton 57). The syntactical composition of Beckett’s reply hints
towards an answer based purely upon the subject of the Spanish Civil War, given the use of
Spanish exclamation marks. On a deeper level, however, as McNaughton recognises, “Up the
Republic” is also a slogan with deep Irish political implications. Indeed, “Up the Republic”
was a slogan which was the rallying cry of the Anti- Treaty forces throughout the Irish Civil
War, and Eamon DeValera later championed the phrase during election campaigns with
Fianna Fail (McNaughton 58).

20. 14
Considering the implications of Beckett tying events related to contemporary Irish
revolution with wider European revolutionary conflicts, the extent of the Irish political
spectre upon the artist can be fully realised. The Irish revolution was interesting in terms of
the actuality of its eventual outcomes. Critics recognise that many of the iconic figures of
Irish nationalism in the early twentieth century had very specific goals in their search for
independence: James Connolly and labour reforms or Countess Markiewicz’s feminist goals,
for example (McNaughton 58). Despite these aspirations, the formulation of the Free State
did not herald such transformations; rather, the State slipped into an ultra-Conservative,
Catholic rule. Ireland had its revolution, but none of the promised liberties transpired. A
sentimental nationalism was fostered, coupled with underlying fascist sympathies and
stringent censorship (McNaughton 61), perhaps the complete antithesis of revolution. Given
Beckett’s experience of such political failures, it becomes evident that through his response to
the questionnaire, he is actively linking the failure of realising goals of the Irish Revolution to
the Spanish Civil War in a foreboding manner. In a thematic current which becomes more
pronounced with his post- World War Two writings, Beckett shows influences from the
“Theatre of the Absurd” school of thought, where the basic lack of logical harmony within
the human condition is shown. The absurdity of a nation striving for political goals through
violent war, only to employ a system after liberation which perhaps subdued the population
more than colonial rule, is contemplated by Beckett, and in turn, he imposes this rhetoric on
another nation’s war that he believes may follow the same path.
This sense of political failure transfers into Beckett’s publications. Victor Merriman,
in speaking of Waiting for Godot (1954), asserts that “the play’s world does not illustrate an
‘Irish condition’ as much as resonate with it” (Merriman 124). In political terms, the parallels
Beckett creates between his published works and the political landscape of Ireland are clear.
The characters in many of Beckett’s plays deal with conditions of stasis and maddening

21. 15
repetition; the idea of temporal or social movement appears inconceivable. In Waiting for
Godot, the intermission which divides the two halves of the play does nothing to progress the
play in any major direction. Although the tree has sprouted leaves, the audience is merely
returned in the second act to a situation of seemingly constant expectation with no relief.
Esslin attains that “Waiting for Godot does not tell a story; it explores a static situation” (45),
and any attempt of action the characters make is stifled through basic inaction:
Pozzo; “Adieu.”
Vladimir; “Adieu.”
Estragon; “Adieu.”
[Silence. No one moves.] (Waiting for Godot 44).
Endgame displays similar narrative structures of stasis, where intentions are often expressed
but never adequately acted upon. Clov frequently threatens to leave the servitude of Hamm,
and though it eventually appears he has departed, the play ends with him standing motionless
by the door, his eyes fixed on Hamm (49).
Such cyclical stasis within Beckett’s narratives draws blatant parallels with the
political backwardness under which he believed Ireland to operate. The desperation of the
characters struggling under the failure of true narrative progression paints a foreboding
picture of what may come with political revolution failing to achieve its preliminary goals.
Merriman argues, “Waiting for Godot engages with the failure of the nationalist state to
decolonize, to deliver Irish independence where it matters -at the level of the lived
experience” (125). The crux of the tension between Beckett and the face of post-
independence Ireland is identified here; the neglect of the individual subject for the benefit of
the all-encompassing object -the creation of a homogenized Irish identity. The individual
characters within Beckett’s works are denied personal movement or fulfilment due to some
overarching system or goal; Vladimir and Estragon are depending on the elusive Godot’s
appearance in order to inspire their progression, whilst Hamm and Clov are kept static

22. 16
through an unmentionable event which confines them to their abode. Even the figure of
Krapp in Krapp’s Last Tape has become embroiled in a stagnant system, his own arrogance
and dismissive nature ultimately rendering him immobile. Individual characters are
represented on stage, but their specific needs are denied due to a larger scheme or
arrangement. For practitioners of the Theatre of the Absurd, the ultimate goal of theatre was
to “express the senselessness of the human condition and the inadequacy of the rational
approach by the open abandonment of rational devices and discursive thought” (Esslin 24).
Using these theatrical situations, Beckett draws attention to the fallacy of belief in political
revolution, where nothing ultimately changes. Instead, through the irrational actions of the
characters within the plays, the absurdity of the human political situation is shown, and the
need for a form of individual revolution is suggested instead.
Conclusion
The spectre of Irish politics lays heavily upon Beckett’s work in many ways.
Considering the author’s dealings with Irish politics throughout his life, critical focus usually
lies primarily upon the explicit acts of aggression the author made towards the politicized
nature of art in Ireland. The rigorous censorship system which governed literary circles had
severely negative impacts upon Beckett and other artists of the period, with much of his work
being banned through their violation of the strictly conservative censorship laws (Morin 15).
Materials banned by the Censorship Board were often seen as a threat to the creation and
consolidation of a homogenised identity within Ireland, and the writing of pieces such as the
unpublished essay Censorship in the Saorstát vocalised Beckett’s abhorrence toward such
governing structures. The artist’s distaste towards censorship is blatantly obvious within
some passages of his publications also, such as the passage in Murphy which proclaims,

23. 17
“This phrase is chosen with care, lest the filthy censors should lack an occasion to commit
their filthy synecdoche” (Murphy 50).
Although McNaughton recognises Beckett’s tendency towards “distrusting most
political arguments for their geographic, historic, and ideological shortsightedness” (61),
considering the artist’s publications in reference to Irish concerns reveals tangible political
inclinations. Arguably, Beckett’s Anglo-Irish Protestant upbringing, coupled with the
revolutionary events of the time, had a profound effect upon the author and meant that his
work was destined to become impregnated with ambiguous political inflections. Despite his
avoidance of fixed notions of identity, publications such as All That Fall refer, at least in part,
to his upbringing as part of a distinct minority grouping in Ireland, a group which was
experiencing inconceivable change due to political turmoil. The artist’s recognition of the
trend of Protestant non-performativity is coupled with his scorn towards the artistic
regression apparently fundamental in the creation of a homogenised national identity through
literary means championed by the Irish Literary Revival. With such efforts serving to
marginalise the Anglo-Irish community perceived to be part of a colonial hangover, Beckett
saw such efforts as a “flight from self-awareness” (Kennedy 4).
Although Beckett used his art as a means of combating the emergent politics of the
Irish Free State, he also offered some degree of commentary upon the state of political
affairs. In particular, the revolution which had occurred in Ireland appeared to be, for figures
like Beckett, a fundamental failure. The lack of radical change, and the regression into ultra-
conservatism, leaves traces within works such as Waiting for Godot and Endgame, the
crippling stasis of the main characters mimicking that of the Irish population and particularly
artists who were inhibited by the draconian censorship laws.

24. 18
Under scrutiny in relation to an Irish context, undeniable political inflections exist
within the works of Samuel Beckett. Although the author tended to avoid political arguments
and standpoints, to consider the underlying political themes present within much of his work
as unintentional would be foolish. Instead, it is more likely that the author subtly instilled
such material into his publications as acts of artistic dissent toward the politicisation of art,
particularly in Ireland. Although the injection of political themes into art in order to combat
its political hi-jacking may prove somewhat contradictory, it allowed Beckett to forward his
goals as an artist, and also to critique the political landscape of the new Ireland, both literally
and figuratively.

25. 19
Chapter Two: Spectres of an Irish Landscape
The Plurality of Landscape
The underlying dangers that exist in considering the work of Samuel Beckett from an Irish
context must be recognised in terms of landscape within his works. Sean Kennedy is quick to
recognise that limitations are imposed upon Beckett’s work when they are considered through
one specific context (Beckett and Ireland 1). In considering the spectre of Ireland upon the
landscapes of Beckett’s texts, it is crucial to ensure that these landscapes are not diminished
through a singular cultural perception, and the plurality of representation within the texts is
recognised. As previously discussed, recognition of a perpetually destabilized context is
critical in considering Beckett’s work, particularly in terms of landscape.
Asserting the relevance of Beckett in terms of contextual plurality thus validates
arguments concerning a distinctly Irish spectre however. Kennedy contends that, “There is a
danger in the neatness of identifications, so much is well known. But there is danger, too, in
the neatness with which certain identifications come to be resisted” (1). Critics who often
shied away from considering Beckett’s work in terms of its Irishness for fear of placing an
unproductive limitation upon the understanding of his pieces have created a paradox, because
if the author’s work is to be considered through a plurality of different contexts, an Irish
context cannot be ignored. David Lloyd argues that the challenge of reading Beckett is “to
find a way of respecting the singularity of Beckett’s writing, its status as inscription and
event, without enclosing it within a horizon of reassuring familiarity” (38). The essential
absurdity of Beckett’s work becomes apparent here; the author’s individuality and artistic

26. 20
capabilities will suffer through specific historical and contextual consideration of his work,
yet no reasonable cultural context can be dismissed in critiquing his work. Each aspect
reduces the other, yet both remain critically relevant ways to consider Beckett’s work. This
paradox of representation must be recognised, specifically when tackling the spectres of
“Irishness” within Beckettian landscapes. A distinctly Irish presence within the landscapes of
Beckett reveals a credible area of investigation, but it must be done so with the utmost care so
as not to restrict the work contextually and ultimately reduce it. To consider Beckett’s work
from an Irish perspective, the reader must allow for a constant shifting of frames that allows
for perpetually destabilising contexts of consideration (Lloyd 51).
The importance of recognising a plurality of contexts becomes evident through close
study of much of Beckett’s work. Waiting for Godot functions as a text which represents the
elusiveness of contextual stability within Beckett. Terry Eagleton contends that
If the starved, stagnant landscapes of his [Beckett] works are pre- Auschwitz, they are also a
subliminal memory of famished Ireland, with its threadbare, monotonous colonial culture and
its disaffected masses waiting listlessly on a Messianic deliverance which never quite comes.
(Political Beckett, 70).
The interpretative implications here are clear; if the bleak landscape of Waiting for Godot is
to be considered as representative of the destruction and confusion of post-war Europe, it can
equally be conceived as a play embodying the devastation of post-famine Ireland. The
insubstantial diet of turnips, of which Vladimir warns “that’s the end of them” (Waiting for
Godot 16), coupled with the desolate landscape of the stage, certainly inspires images of the
Great Famine in an Irish audience, to whom the catastrophic event appears to exist as an
intergenerational memory.
Another of Beckett’s plays of desolation, Endgame, similarly avoids a stable
geographical grounding. The landscape is striking in its bleak resemblance to Waiting for
Godot, yet it cannot be assumed that they are contextually related. In fact, through Hamm’s

27. 21
storytelling, it appears that Beckett purposefully challenges the reader to acknowledge the
intrinsic instability of his work’s landscape. Hamm speaks of a place called “Kov, beyond the
gulf” (Endgame 32). Nels C. Pearson notes that to a reader familiar with an Irish colonial
landscape, the location “Kov” will echo that of Cobh, the prominent British outpost in
County Cork (222). In this sense, the landscape of Endgame could be interpreted as a
wasteland ravaged by issues of Irish concern such as famine and imperialism. Morin
recognises the bilinguistic and transcultural qualities of Beckett however, and builds further
on the allusion to suggest that “Kov” could also reference the Russian Gulags, a hot topic of
debate in France during the nineteen fifties (115). The desolation and stasis of Endgame has
therefore transcended the singular context of a post-famine Irish landscape through malleable
quality of Beckettian contexts, and represents repression and death in an entirely different
context.
Specificity of Irish Landscape
Despite acknowledging the reductive nature of imposing a singular context, numerous
incidents exist in much of Beckett’s works where specific allusions are made to an Irish
landscape. In particular, explicit portrayals of an Irish landscape exist biographically in some
instances of the author’s work. Krapp’s Last Tape (1958) is written with a definite sense of
the individual’s historical footprint in mind. The past and present are played out at the same
time through the chief prop of the play; a tape recorder (O’ Donovan 321). Through this
theatrical construction, Krapp’s present is intersected with his past, creating a circular
interplay and a narrative dependant on historical biography.
Acknowledging the centrality of biographical historicity to the movement, or indeed
non- movement, of the play, the biographical intersections between the life of Krapp and the
life of Beckett become crucial points of consideration. Such similarities crystallise around

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congruencies of landscape, landscapes which appear to be inflected with traces of Ireland that
Beckett would have experienced throughout his life. The tape reminds the older Krapp of
“that memorable night in March, at the end of the jetty, in the howling wind, never to be
forgotten, when suddenly I saw the whole thing. The vision at last” (Krapp’s Last Tape 60).
Kirschen contends that the jetty Krapp recalls in this incident is in fact Dun Laoghaire pier,
and is somewhat based upon one of Beckett’s own experiences (145). The Irish implications
of this particular landscape run deeper, however. Uhlmann notes in Beckett After Beckett that
the location of this incident on Dun Laoghaire pier means that Krapp would have had a clear
view of Martello Tower, a structure iconically famous for its role in both the life and works
(Ulysses) of James Joyce. Far from simply alluding to the same literary and cultural
landscape as Joyce, Beckett problematises their connection through this landscape. The storm
which is raging on the pier according to Krapp’s memory serves to block the view of
Martello Tower, bluntly separating the landscapes of each author. Uhlmann surmises this
incident as a kind of assertion by Beckett of the differences between his own writing style
and Joyce’s. Beckett believed “that the modern world was a world of chaos, and the task of
the artist now was to accommodate the mess, to let it in, and not to pretend that the chaos
could be fully understood or that it was really something else” (qtd in Kirschen 145).
Through the use of a landscape such as Dun Laoghaire pier, Beckett both encompasses the
influence of Joyce’s legacy, and definitively delineates between their artistic directions. He
seems to acknowledge his forthcoming inheritance as an “Irish” writer, but is keen to impart a
fundamental distance and relative obscurity from the Irish literary landscape and figures that
are part of it through this depiction of an actual Irish landscape.
The theme of separation from the author’s biographical landscape does not cease here.
Prior to this reference, Krapp listens to his younger self recall his mother’s death, as he sits
beside a body of water similar to the canals of Dublin (59). This passage runs congruently to

29. 23
Beckett’s own experience of losing his mother. Furthermore, through placing Krapp into a
landscape conceivable as a Dublin setting, his disjuncture from the landscape surfaces once
again. Reflecting on a rubber ball he held, an object which to the narrator seemed to signify
his final material attachment to his mother, he muses:
“I might have kept it. [Pause.] But I gave it to the dog” (Krapp’s Last Tape 60).
The emotional ties of Krapp to his biographical landscape are severed through this act; he has
committed the final remnant he had of his mother’s existence to a stray dog, thus isolating
himself from the landscape which borne him. In many ways, Krapp embodies the character of
Beckett through this, disconnecting himself from the cultural ties and landscape from which
he emerged.
Spectral Remnants of an Irish Landscape
Within Beckett’s works, there are undoubtedly obvious instances of reference and allusion to
landscapes of a distinctly Irish nature. Other influences of Irish landscapes upon Beckett’s
works assume a more ambiguous presence. In some cases, the term haunting is relevant to the
distinctly Irish presence within Beckett’s writing. Avery F. Gordon describes haunting as that
which appears not to be there, yet exists as a kind of “seething presence” (8). Haunting in this
sense is a largely unseen social presence subtly making an impact upon a specific piece in
question.
In terms of the haunting of Irish landscapes upon Beckett’s works, the idea of the Big
House tradition comes as one of the more obvious instances. Within an Irish context, Big
Houses were symbolically linked to the landed Anglo-Irish classes that typically lived in such
grand dwellings as landlords over vast areas of land. From a socio-political perspective, the
presence of such houses became problematised with the formation of the Irish Free State. In
her paper “Politics and the definition of National Monuments: the ‘Big House’ problem”,

30. 24
Mairéad Carew identifies the problematic location of these ‘Big Houses’ in the newly
established Free State. As the newly established government set out to define the ideals and
image of the young country, the question of national monuments came to the fore. What
could be described as a national monument, a monument which “could be used in the service
of the new state and in the enunciation of its official history”? (Carew 131). In identifying
and delegating the status of national monument to archaeological sites and structures, should
monuments not deemed “national” be considered “anti-national” and thus not conducive to
the image of Ireland which was trying to be fostered?
Carew argues that Big Houses were considered to be symbols of the landed class, and
as such, symbols of colonial rule and old order (132). Monuments designated as “national”
were to be used by the state to promote their ideals of history and collective identity, and the
Big Houses, which were mainly associated with Anglo-Irish landlords, did not fit this goal.
Carew notes that after the division of many estates due to the 1923 Land Act, most Big
Houses fell into ruin because of both the financial and political climate. Crucially, the
protection of these houses, many of which contained important archaeological features, was
not promoted by the State. It was clear that “real” national monuments first had to qualify as
“Irish”, and many of these houses did not fit the bill (Carew 135).
The Big House landscapes which are synonymous with the Anglo-Irish landlords
appear in certain instances throughout Beckett’s work. Indeed, the author himself was not
unfamiliar with the seemingly inseparable relationship between the Anglo-Irish Protestant
and the Big House; Beckett was born and raised in a “sizeable but commonplace” (Cronin
11) house called Cooldrinagh in the affluent Dublin suburb of Foxrock. Cooldrinagh is
described as having “totally secluded mature garden laid out in lawns, tennis court and
croquet lawn” (Cronin 11), approached by a “sweeping gravelled driveway” (Cronin 12). It is

31. 25
clear that, although Beckett was not himself raised in an actual landlord “Big House,” he was
indeed accustomed to the apparent trend of expansive Protestant dwellings.
Endgame emerges as the primary text in which Beckett employs the use of the Big
House landscape in its staging. There is a tangible link between the cavernous and decaying
abode of Hamm and Clov and the decline experienced by the Big Houses in the Irish
landscape of the early twentieth century. The aspect of decay and decline is of particular
importance, as the decline of the home place of Hamm and Clov can be linked to that
experienced by the Anglo-Irish landlords in the new Free State. It appears that our two central
characters have become confined to the walls of their crumbling mansion, the world outside
proving inhospitable and essentially incomprehensible to them:
“Outside of here it’s death” (Endgame 9).
The situation presented within Endgame can be linked to the Irish landscape of the
early twentieth century. The portrayal of the outside environment turning against and refusing
to accommodate the characters encased within the walls of their “Big House” may be read as
alluding to the Protestant withdrawal from everyday life following the formation of the Free
State, much like the situation in All That Falls. The outside world has become inhospitable to
these characters of the old order, and they are now condemned to a reclusive existence within
the material symbol of their previously dominant class. Big Houses, one of the classic
symbols of the Irish Protestant landscape, become intrinsically linked with decay in Beckett’s
work, the ruin of these countryside dwellings providing an apposite setting for Beckett’s
contrastive rhetoric of withdrawal (Kennedy 109).
The functions of the relationship enacted within this “Big House” are also conducive
to recognizing the spectre of an Irish landscape within the text. Pearson in particular argues
for a postcolonial reading of Endgame, focussed largely on the semi-symbiotic relationship

32. 26
between Hamm and Clov. The relationship between these two primary characters is not a
clear cut master/slave liaison, but rather a lingering co-dependency which ultimately results
in a cyclical stasis (Pearson 216). Beckett presents this doomed dependency within the
imposing walls of the “Big House”, a relationship striking similar to that of the coloniser and
the colonised. Both desire separation and perhaps a new form of system to live by, yet they
remain within the symbolic walls of the old order and so, cannot escape:
Clov; “So you all want me to leave you.”
Hamm; “Naturally.”
Clov; “Then I’ll leave you.”
Hamm; “You can’t leave us.”
Clov; “Then I shan’t leave you.” (Endgame 24).
This is a landscape inherently linked to an Irish setting, definitively rooted in political
concerns and telling of the actual landscape.
Other works by Beckett also refer to locations which allude in part to the colonial
connotations inspired by the Anglo-Irish Big House tradition. Although the narrative takes
place on a bleak roadside landscape in an indeterminate setting, Waiting for Godot resembles
Endgame in many aspects. Indeed, a master/slave relationship very similar to that of Hamm
and Clov exists between Pozzo and Lucky. In fact, Pozzo and Lucky’s relationship is perhaps
more explicitly colonial, as Pozzo has complete control over Lucky’s actions and speech. In
Act One, Pozzo is the undeniable master of Lucky, controlling all of his actions and using
him more as a symbol of his status than as an actual servant (Merriman 120). He does not
appear to need Lucky’s servitude but chooses to use him in such a way as to assert his
superiority. However, similar in ways to the appearance of the young boy in Endgame, Act
Two of Waiting for Godot begins with the seemingly impossible sprouting of leaves upon the
roadside tree. This image of rebirth and growth correlates with the drastically deteriorated
state of Pozzo. Pozzo has lost his sight, and more crucially, the ability to tell the time. His
possession of a watch in the first act set him apart from the other characters, gave him

33. 27
superiority over them. Now, faced with blindness and the inability to monitor the temporal
passage of his life, he reflects the figure of the coloniser in the face of social change;
“Have you not done tormenting me with your accursed time!” (Waiting for Godot 86).
Merriman argues that the play resonates with the condition of the Irish landscape at the time
of great political upheaval. Similar to Endgame, the lingering co-dependency between the
coloniser and colonised is shown, even though the system is very visibly disintegrating.
Perhaps Vladimir and Estragon represent the idealists of Ireland in relation to this change, or
perhaps the artists, such as Beckett, for whom revolution should have been the great liberator,
desperately dreaming of a better situation which never actually arrives (Merriman 124).
During the Irish Revival of the early twentieth century, a large emphasis was placed
upon ideas of a picturesque and pastoral Irish landscape. James W. Flannery investigates the
foundations of such a focus upon romanticised pastoralism, crediting Yeats’s interest in the
ancient Celtic worship of natural phenomena as a key factor in the focus upon Irish national
landscape (67). In particular, the supernatural lore which accompanied many of these
locations, particularly in the West of Ireland, attracted Revivalist artists such as Yeats who
had deep rooted interests in the supernatural and occult (Flannery 68). However, many of
these representations came to be impregnated with political motivations, as the artists
involved in the resurrection of a culture they deemed to be Irish sought to restore iconic
representations of a virginal, rural Ireland (Morin 100), which came to contrast the apparent
vulgarity of modernised Britain.
Morin notes that if Beckett rejected the naive idealism of the early Revivalist period,
he certainly still remained attached to its habit of attaching encoded political messages to
minimalist landscapes and settings (103). The idyllic and pastoral landscapes championed by
figures of the Revival did not appeal to Beckett, but the power of the minimalism which

34. 28
accompanied such works of pastoralism certainly engaged his artistic attention. Morin notes
some surprising similarities between works of leading figures of the Revival and Beckett’s
own work in terms of landscape. Lady Gregory’s The Workhouse Ward (1908) represents a
landscape of stasis similar to many of Beckett’s plays such as Endgame, Waiting for Godot,
and Krapp’s Last Tape (Morin 103). Although the landscape constructed by Lady Gregory is
explicitly that of post- Famine Ireland, the static plight of the two protagonists, Mike
MacInerney and Michael Miskell, is strikingly similar to that of Vladimir and Estragon. In
addition to this, W. B. Yeats’ play Purgatory (1939) bears strong resemblance in terms of
stage setting to Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The presence of a tree and two outcasts in both
plays means that comparison of the two is almost unavoidable, although thematic
undercurrents may diverge.
Beckett’s work deviates drastically away from the aspirations of the theatre of the
Abbey, however. Kearney contends that Beckett believed the Yeatsian “flight from self
awareness” was positioned in the romanticised natural beauty of the West of Ireland, and as
such, he sought to move away from such idealised versions of Ireland put forward by the
Celtic Twilight (Kennedy 5). As Morin notes, “While certain aspects of Beckett’s early plays
echo dramatic representations of poverty in Irish literature, his emphasis on the physical
consequences of deprivation limits such parallels” (105). A sharp contrast is created between
Beckett’s work and the works of the Revival here. Whereas artists of the Revival used
landscapes depicting simple, rural living, Beckett’s landscapes emphasised the realistic and
primal aspects of such deprivation. The pastoral idealism fundamental to many works of the
Irish Revival was rejected by Beckett, and instead the starvation and scarcity of the landscape
comes to regulate exchanges between characters (Morin 105). A new kind of Irish landscape
is introduced by Beckett, a landscape where the morality perceived to be attained through

35. 29
frugality is replaced by the stark reality of material scarcity which impacts with unflinching
realism upon his characters.
Pastoral frugality is most explicitly attacked through the formation of the landscape in
Endgame. Although the landscape is sparse and minimalistic, it is far removed from the
virginal scenes of Revivalist theatre. Beckett enforces minimalism to such a degree in
Endgame that nature itself seems to abandon the staging, resulting in a complete rejection of
pastoral romanticism. The flora and fauna idealistically perceived as intrinsic to the formation
of a spiritually nourishing landscape have been reduced to a solitary flea and rat, and seeds
which refuse to sprout. If the landscape of Endgame is to be considered in an Irish context, it
is a landscape devoid of any immediate fulfilment or hope. Even the existence of a young boy
glimpsed on the horizon by Clov is questionable as it is only by his word that the audience
can confirm his existence, and his survival would surely be impossible in the face of such
environmental desolation.
Waiting for Godot displays a landscape of scarcity and bleakness, but not to the same
degree as Endgame. Nonetheless, the scant stage directions of “A country road. A tree.
Evening” (Waiting for Godot 5) instils a sense of impoverishment within the staging of the
play. At the beginning of Act Two, the tree central to the stage does sprout leaves, perhaps
signalling a kind of birth or growth. This contrasts with the severe degradation of Pozzo in
this section and the eternal stasis of Vladimir and Estragon, however, condemned to repeat
their waiting game indefinitely.
In addition to the environmental scarcity of the landscape in Waiting for Godot,
interactions between the characters are also governed by this landscape of material scarcity.
Lucky, the most pathetic character within the play, appears to be unable to think unless he has
his hat on, which results in an unsettling and aggressive “stream of consciousness” narrative

36. 30
of apparent nonsense (Waiting for Godot 40). In a situation drastically different to the frugal
paradise peasant Ireland was envisioned to be, the characters are inhibited rather than
enhanced by the landscape of scarcity. The tramps survive on a diet of rotten vegetables, and
Estragon’s pathetic begging for Pozzo’s discarded chicken bones inspires images more
associated with the desperation of famine rather than moral superiority. Morin suggests that
the material deprivation stretches as far as to deny the tramps the ultimate decision over their
existence, their lack of rope preventing suicide and escape from their mundane waiting game
(108). Beckett’s use of scarcity allows him to implicitly relate to an Irish context through the
popular focus on pastoralism and peasantry throughout the Revival period and beyond.
However, he uses this to criticise the idealised version of peasantry championed in early
twentieth century Ireland, and show the bleak reality of such landscapes.
Performative Functions of Landscape
If the landscapes Beckett uses in his works have a distinctly Irish undertone, the performative
role of this landscape in relation to the subject of his work must be examined. The intensity of
scarcity in the landscapes of Beckett’s works can in fact lead towards a certain neutrality of
expression. In other words, the Irish cultural and historical landscapes which many critics
identify in Beckett’s works are in fact reduced to mere traces in the text by the author,
perhaps contributing to the difficulty in stabilising any of Beckett’s pieces to one particular
context. Identifying traces of such landscapes within the text merely remind the reader how
far into abstraction the text has regressed, the traces acting as a tenuous anchor to the realms
of reality which the text has abandoned. Morin argues, “As the initial “realistic” setting of the
works is reduced to a trace, its remnants indicate how far into abstraction the piece has
receded” (136).

37. 31
This neutrality of expression is linked to Joyce and Beckett’s preference of form over
content. Beckett, unlike Joyce, resisted writing pieces of explicit biographical content,
choosing instead to move away from realism as the central part of his work. Referring back to
the infamous pier scene in Krapp’s Last Tape, Beckett’s move away from the realistic
landscape into neutrality is greatly emphasised. By following in Joyce’s footsteps, Beckett’s
work alludes to the landscape which shaped his artistry. However, Beckett sought to present
chaos within his work, uncensored and untreated. The use of Irish landscapes may not have
served a biographical purpose for Beckett as they did with Joyce. Gibson argues that for
Beckett, unlike Joyce, it is impossible to think that “a hidden, Irish- centred logic snakes its
way through the entire corpus” (180). Instead, by subtracting from these landscapes, Beckett
was able to springboard into abstraction and leave mere traces of landscape behind. Although
Ireland and its landscapes are in some ways central to Beckett’s work, they also remain
marginal to its overall function and are, in some cases, reduced to a mere trace.
The landscapes witnessed in stagings of Beckett’s works can therefore be considered
with a higher level of dynamism than their sparseness suggests. An awareness of the function
of landscape as a manner of moving away from reality into abstraction is crucial, and the way
in which the sets achieve this must be recognised. Enoch Brater discusses the dynamism of
Beckett’s landscapes in particular. The dramatic energy which can be extracted from the
simple landscapes of Beckett’s work is of particular interest, and it becomes clear that there is
a lot more going on in the landscapes Beckett creates than is immediately evident.
The offstage area of many of Beckett’s stagings offers a multitude of possibilities
regarding interpretation of landscape. This offstage exists in two separate spheres: the literal
offstage of theatrical boundaries, and the offstage of the play’s landscape, which cannot be
seen by the audience but can be disclosed to them through the characters. Perhaps most
obvious to the audience, the offstage literally represents an area in the mise en scène which is

38. 32
obstructed from their view, but which features periodically through onstage action. In
Waiting for Godot, all the characters emerge from the mystery of the offstage, and indeed
introduce items to the stage from the offstage such as bags and a stool (Brater 503). Similarly
in Krapp’s Last Tape, it is the offstage where Krapp keeps his tapes and goes for his
occasional drink, creating a level of ambiguity between the actions of the characters and the
audience’s perception. Endgame presents an offstage that Clov occasionally monitors from
his ladder, an offstage invisible to the audience that can only assume its actual existence
through the action of the characters onstage (Brater 505). Through this performative use of
the offstage, the entire entity of landscape is challenged, and the audience is left questioning
the limitational constructs of the landscape.
The idea of the offstage can also exist through the back story of the characters upon
the stage. Equally as invisible to the audience as the literal offstage, the back stories of the
characters are only made available through verbal recollections by the characters themselves,
the validity of these recollections often questionable. In terms of an Irish landscape, these
offstage back stories offer further contextual depth. Brater asserts that the “back stories
become increasingly elaborate, providing Beckett’s audience with pictures from the past that
both energize and destabilize the material presence of the mise en scène, no matter how
limited that initially appears to be” (508). This means that implications within the work
which suggest that the characters on the stage come from an Irish landscape have the function
of destabilizing the material that is presented to the audience. This notion has particular
relevance to Krapp’s Last Tape, where the protagonist’s past is only revealed through his
former self. Through listening to his tape recordings of his past self, a verbal landscape is
created which seems to centre Krapp in a distinctly Irish landscape, but not decisively so.
This expression of the offstage works towards Beckett’s neutrality of expression,

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destabilising the landscape to such an extent so as to render it neutral, leaving the traces of
Irishness as the only remnants of reality in a work of abstraction.
Conclusion
Landscape emerges as one of the preeminent areas in considering spectres of Ireland
within the works of Beckett. Such is the nature of Beckett’s work that it simply cannot be
considered through one specific cultural context. The need for an awareness of the malleable
nature of contextual grounding within Beckett’s works is crucial as failure to do so could lead
to fundamentally stunted analyses of his plays and prose. Nevertheless, an Irish landscape is
one that needs crucial consideration in relation to the landscapes created by the author, and
analysing landscape through the lens of its (usually spectral) Irishness reveals interesting
findings regarding the relationship between Beckett and the literal and figurative landscape of
Ireland.
In addition to explicit references of Irish landscapes, political and social concerns
which remain exclusive to an Irish setting seep into the landscapes Beckett creates. It is only
through consideration of these landscapes in an Irish perspective that they become evident,
thus justifying the consideration of the text in relation to an Irish setting. Particular political
concerns exclusive to Ireland are examined in Beckett’s works, such as the threatening new
landscape Anglo-Irish Protestants faced with the birth of the Irish Free State. The Protestant
experience in the “new” Ireland is a landscape which Beckett wrestles with frequently, and
the importance of his works in representing an alternative voice within the new Irish State is
both politically and culturally intriguing. The examination of Irish landscapes is not confined
to the Anglo-Irish Protestant experience however, and the formation of landscapes which will
relate to an Irish audience links Beckett’s works inextricably to an Irish context.

40. 34
Beckett does not merely present such landscapes to the audience, however. Instead, he
utilises such landscapes and through their performative functions allows them to act as
tenuous traces of the reality from which the content of his text has abstracted from. In this lies
the true function of Irish landscapes within Beckett’s texts; they exist not in a strictly specific
cultural grounding but as contextual traces which can be intertransposed with other
landscapes. Despite this intertransferability, the ability to consider texts through Irish
landscapes offers interpretations unique to other contextual landscapes.

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Chapter Three: Irish Influences upon Language and Translation
The Spectre of Ireland within Language
Language is an area of investigation that cannot be neglected in studying the works of
Samuel Beckett. Beckett’s work is hugely celebrated in terms of the innovation and intricacy
he injected into the language used, and the implications this had towards the overall
comprehension of his pieces. Beckett’s legacy often sees particular focus upon his success as
a writer not only in his native tongue of English but also in his adopted language of French.
For an artist to create such groundbreaking works in a learned language is a rare move within
the literary sphere. To accurately gauge the impact of Beckett’s plays and fiction upon the
modernist movement, the language he employed and the different translated versions he
published must be examined. As Kearney notes, “the problem of language was truly to be his
abiding obsession” (61).
In examining the formative years of Beckett’s artistry in Ireland, it is clear he had a
very tempestuous relationship with the ideals of the Irish Literary Revival, and indeed with
many of its prominent figures. Morin recognises the ambiguity which existed between
Beckett and the influences of the Abbey Theatre, though acknowledging Beckett’s claims
that he made weekly visits to the theatre during his time in Trinity College (21). It must be
recognised that the Abbey Theatre, central to the Revivalist movement, was not strictly
restricted to Revivalist or post- Revivalist performances throughout the 1920s and 1930s, so
Beckett’s alleged regularity of attendance could indeed have been influential in the fostering
his modernist tendencies.

42. 36
A large part of the overall movement of cultural revival involved the attempted
resurrection of the Irish language. Given the language’s use as an integral symbol of Irish
independence, many Irish Protestants viewed it with a certain degree of antipathy (Kennedy
104). Although it remains unclear whether Beckett saw the focussed attempts of resurgence
in using Irish as a direct attack on his Protestant heritage, it is clear he treated such efforts
with disdain as late as the publication of his lengthy prose Company (1980). The narrator in
this piece refers to a voice as having “no more effect on him than a speech in Bantu or in
Erse” (5). Kennedy alerts the reader to the derogatory implications of the word “Erse,”
namely that it was used by Protestant middle-classes in reference to the Irish language (104).
Indeed, Kearney asserts, Beckett “showed scant sympathy for those who chose to write in
their native Gaelic” (58), highlighting his removal from the ranks of artists involved in the
resurrection of the Irish language.
The question remains, however, whether such references were a Protestant response
to the changing political climate or more artistically motivated. It appears that Irish was a
dead language for Beckett, and its promotion and attempted resurgence signalled a politically
motivated step backwards in terms of linguistic artistry as part of the Revival’s “flight from
self- awareness” (Kennedy 4). Beckett believed in linguistic innovation and radicalism, and
was far removed from reliance upon ancient subjects and forms in the creation of his works.
This perceived flight from the self is personified through the semi-tragic figure of
Krapp in Krapp’s Last Tape. Interpreting the play in an antagonistically different manner to
the biographical undertones which interweave throughout the narrative, Krapp’s Last Tape
can also be read as a commentary upon those artists who have fled from true self-
representation. Gontarski notes that “The emotional and dramatic intensity of the play are
increased as Beckett makes Krapp simultaneously more pathetic and comic” (67). Indeed, as
the Krapp of the present listens to the Krapp of the past, who himself is listening to the Krapp

43. 37
of a further past, the audience becomes aware of the sequence of failures which seems to
characterise Krapp’s existence. Yet it appears that it is only the Krapp physically onstage
who seems to have come to the realisation of his failures, despite his countless recordings
over the years. Through Beckett’s tiered presentation of the life of one individual using
multiple recordings, the audience realises that Krapp has systematically refused to confront
the failures of his younger self and is thus trapped in the confines of his darkened room,
“listening to that stupid bastard I took myself for thirty years ago” (Krapp’s Last Tape 62).
The unity of the self is fractured through Krapp’s failure to confront his self, and the
disjuncture between his present and past self is represented instead.
Instead of fleeing from self-representation, the author sought to achieve an anti-
naturalistic form of art, a way of using language that ruptured the lines of communication and
instead examined the complex language that intervenes between the writers and reality
(Kearney 65). Given the extent of humanitarian disasters of the twentieth century, Beckett
saw art and language as modes of examining the possibilities of literary communication in the
face of the collapse of traditional meanings of understanding, in line with the principles of the
Theatre of the Absurd.
In an effort to combat this flight from the self he perceived to be central to many
Revivalist endeavours, Beckett redrew the lines of representation through language. The
spectre of Ireland overshadows this artistic decision, at least in part, as the author must have
deemed it necessary to remove himself from the politically motivated backward trends of the
artistic majority in Ireland in order to fulfil his perception of the true purpose of prose and
theatre. In order to achieve this departure from the bounds of Irish artistry, Beckett’s
language appears to exist in the confines of an echo-chamber, a kind of “No-Body” voice
(Gaddis Rose 128). Beckett’s construction of language in this way raises an intrinsic paradox.
Although readers tend not to “recognize the Trinity College timbre of an Anglo- Irish

44. 38
academic” (Gaddis Rose 128), Beckett is nonetheless an author raised and influenced by the
language and customs of his native country. Even if the author tries to employ a language
structure which removes him from cultural specificity, the reasons for this removal are
residual of his Irish background. As such, even Beckett’s attempted departure from the
dominant influences of his Irish background carry the spectre of Irishness upon them, an
intimate presence upon his language.
Within Beckett’s work, language assumed such importance that it became the basic
logic of representation. In particular, language became a crucial way through which Beckett
deconstructed representation within his works, thus creating what he perceived of as true
representation. Lloyd describes this Beckettian logic of representation as the articulation of
any element or set of elements in a cultural work with the totality of the work, and in turn
with the totality of the cultural context from which the work has emerged. However, as
Beckett works to challenge such representation in his texts, cultural studies become
convoluted. Thus, what emerges within the texts are shards and fragments of the cultural
context from which the text emerged, creating a fractured world which avoids representation
rather than an integrated portrayal of context (38). Through the use of such logic of
representation, Beckett appears to continually offer the reader a chance of cultural and
contextual stability within the work, only to complicate representations and compromise the
textual anchorage.
In order to deconstruct representation within the text, Beckett set about to breakdown
the language used within these texts. This process of deconstruction worked in a
complimentary structure between representation and language; true representation for Beckett
was achieved through the breakdown of language, and this “desophisticated” (Kearney 64)
language proved to be the most accurate way to portray his desired representation. By
actively challenging the function of language used in his works, Beckett was able to manifest

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the deconstruction of representation, and vice versa. This style of representation appears in
Beckett’s work explicitly through the failure of language to perform its primary purpose
adequately: that of basic representation.
Much of the language in Beckett’s works of prose and theatre highlight the
breakdown of language and, as such, the failure of communication. Martin Esslin recognises
the importance of the relationship between language and representation in Beckett, especially
as many of Beckett’s plays are concerned with finding meaning in a world subjected to
incessant change. Beckett’s use of language tests the limitations of language both as a means
of communication and as an instrument of thought (84). Waiting for Godot exists as one of
the primary examples of the limitations which exist between language and representation in
Beckett’s works. The dialogue between the two tramps, Vladimir and Estragon, is rife with
contradiction and instances of expression that ultimately nullifies itself. In particular, the
tramps’ incessant attempts to leave the bleak landscape they inhabit highlights the
deconstructed nature of language within the play. Estragon announces “I’m going” (Waiting
for Godot 8), but does not move. Such proclamations of intent feature heavily throughout the
play’s narrative, but yet neither character permanently leaves this landscape of waiting.
Language is put into a contrapuntal relationship with action, revealing the breakdown of
representation behind the facade of language and trivialising language itself.
Endgame presents a similar deconstruction of language through the relationship
between statements of intent by the characters and the actual representation of their actions.
The dialogue between the two primary characters, Hamm and Clov, functions similarly to
that of Estragon’s and Vladimir’s –that is to say, rife with contradictions. Indeed, the
inconsistency between their words and actions are arguably to a higher degree than those in
Waiting for Godot, as almost all of the content of their dialogue is based upon subjects in
which the verity of assertions made is fundamentally disputable. The central subject of their

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conversations correspond to those in Waiting for Godot in some sections, as Clov constantly
threatens to leave Hamm but never departs. In fact, towards the end of the play, when Hamm
bids Clov to leave him, he finds himself unable to exit the stage. Other instances
compromising the functionality of language are also present throughout the narrative. At
certain parts, statements that are considered factual earlier in the narrative are compromised,
showing the paradox of language in relation to representation. Towards the beginning of the
play, a discussion occurs between Hamm and Clov, in which the existence of bicycle wheels
is definitively quashed, Hamm stating that “The thing is impossible” (Endgame 9).Yet later
on in the narrative, Hamm proclaims, “We’d need a proper wheel-chair. With big wheels.
Bicycle wheels!” (Endgame 18). Despite having dismissed the existence of such objects as
“impossible” before, Hamm now announces his desire for such objects, highlighting the
conflict between language spoken and actual representation.
Beckett did not remain content with merely showing this contradiction between
language and action in his work. Some sections of Beckett’s plays portray not only the failure
of language to adequately represent reality, but indeed the complete breakdown of language
itself. This manifests itself most poignantly in Lucky’s unsettling outburst in Waiting for
Godot, after Pozzo instructs him to “Think!” (39). Lucky’s aggressive tirade (Waiting for
Godot 40) features an incomprehensible mixture of English words spoken successively
without pause or punctuation, completely devoid of conventional sentence structure. This
incident has traces similar to a “stream-of-consciousness” style, yet the actual arrangement of
the words render the outburst unintelligible. The incomprehensibility of Lucky’s language
reinforces Beckett’s objective of portraying the breakdown between language and
representation. This outburst forces the audience to question the very structure of language,
on which representation supposedly depends. Similarly in All That Fall, we see that the
language has begun to disintegrate and lose its meaning. Even time-worn expressions have

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started to lose their bearing: “Just concentrate on putting one foot before the next or whatever
the expression is” (All That Fall 30).
In exposing the relationship between language and representation within his works,
Beckett proved innovative in creating new modes of understanding the production and
representation of language. The introduction of a tape recorder in Krapp’s Last Tape changed
how audiences perceived both the production of dialogue within the play, and also the
temporal boundaries that could be traversed through the addition of a prop to the stage.
Patrick O’Donovan notes that this chief prop has the interesting function of linking past and
present, solely through the use of language (321). The use of the tape recorder is interesting
in terms of representation. The unsettling situation occurs where the sole character upon the
stage remains mute for large portions of the play, but yet his voice is transmitted through a
machine which brings the past directly into the present. Conventional representation of the
theatrical character is thus compromised, as in terms of language the audience only have a
thirty year old recording through which the character of Krapp is represented. The very
limitations of representation through language are exposed, and the audience is forced to
question the adequacy of language in terms of representation.
Hiberno- English
Although Beckett appears to have both implicitly and explicitly criticised the artistic
goals of the Irish Revival through his questioning of representational language, other aspects
within his works link the author more closely to his native Ireland. In much of Beckett’s
work, critics have identified his use of language which could be considered “Hiberno-
English”; that is, a colloquial form of English which matches the idiosyncrasies of typical
Irish speech. The use of such language structures within his works ties the author intrinsically

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to an Irish context, and highlights the influence language exerts over the creation of context
within a literary piece.
A paradox exists within Beckett’s use of Hiberno-English within his work, however.
It must be considered that the subtle use of such language within his works may only prove
accessible to an audience familiar with its intricacies, i.e., an Irish audience. Morin addresses
this paradox, identifying that although Beckett’s writings sought an apparent autonomy from
an Irish context, much of it only finds articulation in the residual attachment to the country
(3). This finds particular articulation in All That Fall. As this piece was designed solely for
radio, the characters can only be represented aurally. Language is how the characters within
All That Fall claim their existence, as stressed by Mrs. Rooney: “Do not imagine, because I
am silent, that I am not present, and alive, to all that is going on.” (All That Fall 25). As the
characters within the play rely on language as the basis of their existence, the Hiberno-
English through which they speak is of crucial importance to the construction of the play.
Through analysing All That Fall, it becomes apparent that Beckett had a certain
appreciation for the musicality of Hiberno- English but also disliked the artificiality of the
Anglo-Irish construction of peasant speech. In what could be considered as a measured and
subtle critique upon the works of some Irish Revivalists, Beckett uses the distinctly artificial
“peasant” speech to criticise “the literary shortcomings of Irish Revivalists who worship this
Goddess of habit” (McKee 48). Essentially, it was an attack on those who sought to represent
people and places through overly conventional and national terms. The characters within the
play seem to become aware of their contrived manner of speech and explicitly question the
way their language is formed:
“Do you find anything... bizarre about my way of speaking? [Pause.] I do not mean the voice.
[Pause.] No. I mean the words. [Pause. More to herself.] I use none but the simplest words, I
hope, and yet I sometimes find my way of speaking very. . . bizarre.” (All That Fall 13).

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There is also a noted emphasis upon silences within the dialogue, drawing attention to the
strained and almost artificial nature of the play’s language. The narrative is frequently halted
by silences, highlighting the laborious construction of a stereotypically false Hiberno-
English speech.
A degree of plurality within language becomes apparent within All That Fall also.
Although the characters speak in a language of a distinctly Hiberno-English timbre, the
divide between languages within the Irish setting is evident. Mr. Rooney vocalises this
divide, stating, “. . .Jerry led me to the men’s, or Fir as they call it now, from Vir Viris I
suppose, the V becoming F, in accordance with Grimm’s Law.” (All That Fall 35). In this
single statement, the multitude of questions regarding language becomes evident. The
political emphasis upon Gaelic representation in the Free State is pushed forward here, as is
the Anglo- Irish disconnection from this “dead language” (All That Fall 34). Beckett
addressed varying perspectives of Irish culture in this way through his use of language,
perspectives which may only become apparent to an audience familiar with the cultural
context.
The nationality of Vladimir and Estragon in Waiting for Godot remains undisclosed
throughout, but certain mispronunciations within the text suggest that they are not French,
despite the original language of composition: “Oh, tray bong, tray tray tray bong” (Waiting
for Godot 35). Estragon’s mimicry implies that the pair are not English either, raising
questions as to the true origins of the duo, who are apparently fluent in English: “Calm...
calm... The English say cawm.” (Waiting for Godot 12). Beckett’s use of phonetical mimicry
in the speech patterns of both characters concludes that they must be of neither English nor
French extract. Therefore, given the character’s clear fluency of the English language, mixed
with Estragon’s confused syntax which often replicates speech patterns commonplace in

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Hiberno- English (Morin 110), it is not irrational to consider the Irish element in their
language structure.
Endgame also utilises language patterns which forces the audience to question the
implications of speech in terms of representation. Pearson recognises a distinctly postcolonial
thematic current running throughout Endgame which would relate directly to an Irish colonial
landscape. Such an examination is strengthened by the central relationship between Hamm
and Clov, and their respective use of colloquial idioms common to British- English and
Hiberno- English:
Hamm; “You’re a bit of all right, aren’t you?”
Clov; “A smithereen.” (Endgame 11).
Injecting phrases shrouded in geographical specificity such as these raises unavoidable
questions surrounding language representation within Beckett’s work. Phrases such as “a
smithereen” are specific to an Irish context, imparting an Irish inflection upon the movement
of the play. However, the disdain which Beckett appears to have held for the artificiality of
peasant speech must also be considered, which trivialises Beckett’s use of distinctly Hiberno-
English language. References to Ireland through such speech patterns may not function as an
expression of fidelity to his native land. Instead, Beckett utilises this language in a satiric
manner to signal his movement of interest away from the Revivalist notions of the historical
island of Hibernia, moving instead towards his perception of a metaphysical island of
inwardness (Kearney 61).
The Representative Function of Translation
As an Anglo-Irish writer who wrote much of his work in the non-native tongue of
French, Beckett occupies a rare role. Fitch contends that it is Beckett’s “bilingual character
that, first and foremost, distinguishes his work from that of so many other writers” (11). The

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production of his work in both French and English meant that a plurality of representation
existed in the comprehension of his work. Through the existence of his plays and works of
prose in different languages, the contextual grounding on which they are built is ultimately
destabilised. Again, the importance of considering the author’s work through a plurality of
contexts is reinforced. To consider the author, and indeed the content of his works, through a
specifically Irish, English, or French context would prove counter-productive and ultimately
limit the capabilities of the piece.
As an artist whose native tongue was English, Beckett made an unconventional
decision in choosing to write in French. Beckett saw this move as one which would
ultimately aid his artistic capabilities however. Esslin argues that Beckett chose to write his
novels in French because he desired the discipline that an acquired language would enforce
upon him (38). His powers of expression were challenged by the use of a non-native
language, and instead his ingenuity was diverted towards utmost clarity and economy of
expression rather than embellishments of style (38). Esslin notes that writing in one’s mother
tongue meant that meanings and associations within the language were unconsciously
accepted, whereas writing in a foreign language meant that every word needed to be carefully
considered and wrestled with (39). As such, Beckett ensured he remained loyal to complete
economy of expression without becoming side-tracked through excess in the writing process.
The author’s attempts of composition in a language which was not his native tongue
have deeper implications apart from mere artistic discipline, however. By depriving himself
of easy composition, Beckett actively challenged modes of representation within the text.
Through translation, the lines of communication between the subject and object are ruptured,
therefore mimicking the human predicament of representation (Kennedy “Beckett Reviewing
MacGreevy: A Reconsideration” 274). Essentially, the author’s struggle to communicate and
represent in a learned language is translated unto the text, and is thus reproduced by the

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ruptured nature of representation within the narrative of the text. The goals of Beckett’s
artistic merits are represented through these linguistic functions; rather than trying to achieve
the mastery and omnipotence of Joyce, he sought to work with impotence and ignorance
(Kearney 61), and expose the fundamental and irredeemable failure of language to represent.
Through Beckett’s translatory efforts, the spectre of an Irish influence emerges. In
addition to questioning the relationship between language and representation, Beckett’s
translations also worked to confuse seemingly solid notions of identity. McKee argues that
“by cultivating his bilingual imagination, he [Beckett] deliberately aimed to reject overly
rigid constructions of identity from the very start of his career” (44). The use of the French
language in the composition of his plays and prose allowed him to dislocate himself from his
Anglo-Irish heritage through language. This disconnection from the stereotypical attributes of
the national individual is multi-layered. In addition to translation acting as a removal from a
specific context, the use of French also allowed the author to position himself antagonistically
to the domineering influences of the Irish Revival. David Lloyd theorised the adoption of a
non-native tongue as a way in which the author will “live as an exile, to lose one’s identity
with one’s paternity, to be condemned to translate” (“Writing in the Shit: Nationalism and the
Colonial Subject” 62). In Beckett’s case, this exile certainly existed as a voluntary one, as the
author used the French language to dislocate himself from his native land.
Beckett’s decision to write specifically in French is as crucially important to
understand as his decision to write in another language at all. Around the time Beckett first
began to write, modernist influences were sweeping throughout European literary circles,
particularly in France. To the author, this must have come as a stark contrast to the archaising
influences of the Celtic Twilight period. It must be recognised that whilst many authors and
playwrights in Ireland were reverting back to an ancient language, Beckett instead began to
write in a language which was symbolic of cutting edge artistic innovation at the time. Rather

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than falling back into a “dead” language, the author instead sought to explicitly sever his
connections with the attempted cultural resurgence in Irish artistry through embracing a new
language symbolically linked with linguistic and artistic innovation.
Through Beckett’s move away from the principle modes of language within the Irish
setting, critics argue that an Irish spectre inadvertently overshadows his work. Morin asserts
that “. . . in moving from one language to another, Beckett was able to signal his
simultaneous attachment and detachment from the contexts formative of his development as a
writer” (95). This creates another paradox within the linguistic functions of Beckett’s texts; as
the author tries to evade his cultural characteristics of Irish writing through translation, the
very act of translation highlights these characteristics and his attempted removal from them.
Ironically, the stylelessness of pure communication Beckett sought to achieve through writing
in French collapses upon itself, as the cultural and historical weight of his departure from the
English language emphasises the translatory direction he opted to take. Indeed, whereas
traces of Hiberno- English can be drawn from English versions of Beckett’s texts, other
aspects of “Irishness” can also be extracted from the French publications.
Considering Beckett’s work as a bilingual author, complications arise in the
comprehension and criticism of his texts. Beckett sought to destroy the rigidity apparently
inherent around notions of identity, and the idea of a specific style of “French” or “Irish”
writing proved as much of a contradiction to the author as ideas of national identity, which
are no more than impostures of language he has already deconstructed (Kearney 65). The
author has already compromised language, which has played a role in the pre-determined
ideas of national identity. However, the nature of Beckett’s artistic style means that the works
he produced exist in two versions: the French version and the English version. A fundamental
fact of translation is that texts cannot be precisely translated. Variances and subtle differences
plague even the most direct attempts of translation. In the case of Beckett, each translation