I seem to have been reading Samuel Beckett’s immense biography by James Knowlson on and off for most of the year. It is the only one to be officially authorised by Beckett and his estate, permission being granted by Beckett himself on condition that nothing be published until after his death. Knowlson was a friend of Beckett and an acknowledged authority of his works. The depth of understanding of the man and his writing is evident on every page. The sheer scale of research is awe inspiring but he is also able to organise this material to give a fully rounded portrait of one of the key artistic figures of the 20th century.
The only other biography of Beckett on this scale is that of Deidre Bair in 1978 but the accuracy of that is put into perspective right at the beginning of Knowlson’s work. He writes of some doubts that have been raised in some quarters as to Beckett’s true date of birth- Good Friday, April 13th 1906, a question mark about this date having arisen due to the fact that the birth was not officially registered by Beckett’s father until June. In the notes, Knowlson says “the myth was treated seriously by Deidre Bair – it has been repeated in countless books and essays ever since“. Knowlson found an announcement of the birth in the local newspaper on April 16th, proving that the April date was accurate.
There is no need to attack Bair outright – the point is clear: a biography that has difficulty establishing a fundamental fact like the subject’s date of birth is not one that can be wholly trusted. Knowlson establishes immediately that his is a biography that is concerned to seperate the man from the myth.
The book certainly doesn’t portray Beckett as a saint – he could be a remote and difficult character – but it shows his human qualities and love of the underdog that make his writing so honest and rewarding.
Beckett’s dour wit also shines through as evidenced in a letter to a friend when he wrote: “There are two moments worthwhile in writing, the one when you start and the other when you throw it in the waste paper basket“.
I was fascinated to learn how the image from David Casper Friedrich’s painting (see above) was one that Beckett recalled when writing ‘Waiting For Godot‘ . An insight into the difficulty of adapting that play for the small scene is shown by a critical comment by Beckett after he saw the first BBC television production: “My play was written for small men locked in a big space“.
These are just a couple of the numerous details that illuminate Beckett’s writing and enable a richer understanding of his work.
Knowlson’s biography is truly definitive and one that does full justice to Samuel Beckett’s long and rich life. It is not by any stretch of the imagination a light read but for anyone interested in Beckett’s work, this is required reading.
