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diadaily's review against another edition
Like a long run-on sentence, tho I know I saw some full stops in this soup. Exhausting and confusing. Maybe I spent too much time skimming, but for me this only broke through in bits and waves of interest, and never settled into a whole. Book podcast.
preveggenza's review against another edition
4.0
Ho apprezzato particolarmente L'ultimo nastro di Krapp, Non io e Di' Joe (oltre al celeberrimo Aspettando Godot, che per me è un gran piacere rileggere). Il teatro di Beckett è ridotto al minimo, caratterizzato dal non detto, dal silenzio, dall'immobilità. Sicuramente uno degli autori più geniali di sempre, la sua descrizione della condizione umana è la più vera e allo stesso tempo la più tragica che io abbia mai letto.
alphekka's review against another edition
5.0
Malone Dies and the Unnameable read like I imagine death throes to feel like.
skrivena_stranica's review against another edition
2.0
For me, only after this book some things of Beckett's early works (before this one) fall into place. I see this book as a show of narrator. Book before this one were focused on the characters. We perceive characters as real people, like they could walk out from the pages but the reality is different. Without story, without discourses, they can't exist. I believe that's what is shown in these Beckett's works. This particular book goes a step further, showing how writing works, how narration works, how character become and disappear in the making of the novel, how the narrator is nothing more than a voice, nothing really, it has no body, it is not made of material and since it doesn't exist it can't be killed.
It was fun realising this (interpreting this in this way) and it gave some interest into my reading but is still not a work of art that I wish to read again. It was ok. So... 2 stars.
It was fun realising this (interpreting this in this way) and it gave some interest into my reading but is still not a work of art that I wish to read again. It was ok. So... 2 stars.
eliza_v_paige's review against another edition
3.0
It seems like a redundant statement to say that this book is an odd one, but for me, it is the experience of reading the novel that is actually strange. I enjoy losing myself inside the relentless prose, so whenever I put the book down I've had a good time reading it. However, despite the enjoyable reading experience, I spent most (if not all, if I'm being honest) of the novel completely confused as to the point of it all. In some ways I guess this is the point. This is Beckett's conclusion to his loose trilogy, and serves more as an overt contemplation of existentialism as opposed to the previous two that had strands of plot and character. The narrator of The Unnamable is possibly non-existent. The narrator does repeat that they are not 'I', but this is more of a characterisation of existentialism, rather than an erasure of the narrator's tangibility. As a stream of consciousness musing on existentialism, it is a superb read, though as a novel, it is lacking. I did find it enjoyable to read but the lack of anything to grasp made the book too sparse to be a good novel. The preceding novels were a better combination of existentialist musings and novelisation, though taken as a whole, they are certainly an interesting trio.
masterovcrabs's review against another edition
5.0
I can't remember the last time a book so effortlessly carved out my insides and left such a persistent sense of emptiness and despair. Highly recommended.
thetrebekoning's review against another edition
3.0
I... I am so tired.
The Unnamable is a towering achievement in deconstructing every element of the novel - character, plot, motivation, theme, setting, everything - in order to draw attention to the role of the author. Or at least that's what I think it is.
Beckett's third novel in his famous trilogy is devoid of any real narrative moorings, being essentially a long monologue by the titular "Unnamable" narrator. Who this is can be a lot of things to a lot of people, but seeing as they're consistently referring to themselves as author of other Beckett books and a conduit for other Beckett characters, it feels a lot like the narrator is just Samuel Beckett's artistic voice. Beckett uses this conceit of being a opaquely-styled narrator/author really well, but it feels like he obscures the stability of the narrator's role as much as everything else in the novel.
As far as everything else in the novel, well — there isn't much of it. There isn't really a dramatis personae to speak of, as every character that's mentioned seems like just a figment of this one voice that is simultaneously inventing and is invented by the text. There's no actual setting, just flashes of environments that quickly move away or morph into one another. There's no plot, just the aforementioned monologue that makes Portnoy's Complaint look like a Tolstoy novel by comparison, and seems to be composed of whatever came to Beckett's mind and felt associated enough to the tone of the book to be logged. As there's no plot, there's no real motivation for the narrator aside for just continuing until done. It feels like a beautiful watercolor portrait left out in the rain: there is a form underneath everything, but the presentation is melted and amorphous to the point that you can't really see it without squinting.
So, like Molloy (and very unlike Malone Dies), I feel like I saw some part of the point in this, or what lack of a point the point seemed to be. Unfortunately, The Unnameable differs from its predecessor by being an entirely obnoxious reading experience. Is sitting down and reading a 110-page paragraph that makes a point to deny you meaning or satisfaction "the point?" Sure, close enough. Does that make this "good?" I feel like that's something I can't answer. Beckett sure did make it difficult enough to supply some verisimilitude to the experience of trying to construct meaning in the world, but I don't know if I can really say it was worth it to go through.
Ultimately, I think the real takeaway I got from this novel is that sometimes "great art" isn't really "good." I don't feel enriched by this book, or even robbed. I just feel exhausted. I don't think I would recommend this for anybody but the most determined of modernism aficionados. Godspeed you crazy bastards.
The Unnamable is a towering achievement in deconstructing every element of the novel - character, plot, motivation, theme, setting, everything - in order to draw attention to the role of the author. Or at least that's what I think it is.
Beckett's third novel in his famous trilogy is devoid of any real narrative moorings, being essentially a long monologue by the titular "Unnamable" narrator. Who this is can be a lot of things to a lot of people, but seeing as they're consistently referring to themselves as author of other Beckett books and a conduit for other Beckett characters, it feels a lot like the narrator is just Samuel Beckett's artistic voice. Beckett uses this conceit of being a opaquely-styled narrator/author really well, but it feels like he obscures the stability of the narrator's role as much as everything else in the novel.
As far as everything else in the novel, well — there isn't much of it. There isn't really a dramatis personae to speak of, as every character that's mentioned seems like just a figment of this one voice that is simultaneously inventing and is invented by the text. There's no actual setting, just flashes of environments that quickly move away or morph into one another. There's no plot, just the aforementioned monologue that makes Portnoy's Complaint look like a Tolstoy novel by comparison, and seems to be composed of whatever came to Beckett's mind and felt associated enough to the tone of the book to be logged. As there's no plot, there's no real motivation for the narrator aside for just continuing until done. It feels like a beautiful watercolor portrait left out in the rain: there is a form underneath everything, but the presentation is melted and amorphous to the point that you can't really see it without squinting.
So, like Molloy (and very unlike Malone Dies), I feel like I saw some part of the point in this, or what lack of a point the point seemed to be. Unfortunately, The Unnameable differs from its predecessor by being an entirely obnoxious reading experience. Is sitting down and reading a 110-page paragraph that makes a point to deny you meaning or satisfaction "the point?" Sure, close enough. Does that make this "good?" I feel like that's something I can't answer. Beckett sure did make it difficult enough to supply some verisimilitude to the experience of trying to construct meaning in the world, but I don't know if I can really say it was worth it to go through.
Ultimately, I think the real takeaway I got from this novel is that sometimes "great art" isn't really "good." I don't feel enriched by this book, or even robbed. I just feel exhausted. I don't think I would recommend this for anybody but the most determined of modernism aficionados. Godspeed you crazy bastards.
annakarlien's review against another edition
2.0
But in vain I raised without hope my eyes to the sky to look for the Bears. For the light I steeped in put out the stars, assuming they were there, which I doubted, remembering the clouds.
This small book consisted of two short stories, The End and The Cumulative.
I would have loved to be able to say right now that I love Beckett and everything about him, as that was what I had kind of expected. But though the bare, pointless, nihilistic themes do appeal to me, and in spite of me liking the writing style and the very dark humor which had me giggling on multiple occasions, it was just a bit too much.
I did not feel that there was any point, which is the point, and therefore these stories have the point of not having a point. But that's not what a good reading experience consists of. Most people are just generic and do not have the interesting events turn up in their lives that often happen to the main characters of exciting thrillers, mysteries or even romances, but the reason that these people are the main characters is for the simple reason that otherwise, a story would be very boring. And I do think that plot is definitely not the only thing that matters in a book. However, even with a point such as "there is no point", I still think that a book should be made interesting and entertaining in some way. These stories, however, were just a bit too extreme in their pointlessness.
Nevertheless, I am curious to read more of Beckett's work, particularly his plays, but also, maybe, his famous trilogy, for the simple reasons that his writing and themes definitely have something to them. I just think that it could have worked better than it did in these short stories.
This small book consisted of two short stories, The End and The Cumulative.
I would have loved to be able to say right now that I love Beckett and everything about him, as that was what I had kind of expected. But though the bare, pointless, nihilistic themes do appeal to me, and in spite of me liking the writing style and the very dark humor which had me giggling on multiple occasions, it was just a bit too much.
I did not feel that there was any point, which is the point, and therefore these stories have the point of not having a point. But that's not what a good reading experience consists of. Most people are just generic and do not have the interesting events turn up in their lives that often happen to the main characters of exciting thrillers, mysteries or even romances, but the reason that these people are the main characters is for the simple reason that otherwise, a story would be very boring. And I do think that plot is definitely not the only thing that matters in a book. However, even with a point such as "there is no point", I still think that a book should be made interesting and entertaining in some way. These stories, however, were just a bit too extreme in their pointlessness.
Nevertheless, I am curious to read more of Beckett's work, particularly his plays, but also, maybe, his famous trilogy, for the simple reasons that his writing and themes definitely have something to them. I just think that it could have worked better than it did in these short stories.