Samuel Beckett

A novel consisting of two meandering, plotless, stream-of-consciousness monologues, one by Molloy, a bedridden vagrant obsessed with finding his mother, and the other by Moran, a private detective who is assigned to find Molloy. Some view the work as a modernistic and experimental excursion into meaninglessness. Both the characters have a similar appearance, similar attitudes, and seem to be seriously mentally disturbed. Some critics argue both are the same person.

A Novel

Molloy

Molloy, the first of the three masterpieces which constitute Samuel Beckett’s famous trilogy, appeared in French in 1951, followed seven months later by Malone Dies (Malone meurt) and two years later by The Unnamable (L’Innommable). Few works of contemporary literature have been so universally acclaimed as central to their time and to our understanding of the human experience.

Moran is Molloy. Kinda. I think the narrator who calls himself Molloy in the first part is just Moran later on in life after his memory keeps deteriorating and his sickness gets worse. Parts one and two describe the same illnesses and problems, part two shows them happen and part one is a schizophrenic recollection. I think he only thinks his name is Molloy in part one because he was so myopic about finding Molloy early on in life and that was his last episode of clear consciousness ahead of all the injuries and problems characteristic of Moran’s mental and physical decline. Dope fucking book

Miles Silverstein

Malone dies ; The unnamable

jess

the aftermath of this book left me in this state of withdrawal; a solitary tour de force; an observer of three stages of life Beckett has lived — iterations of Molloy in the relentment of utter despair and satirical nihility of the cruel reality of the world, the endeavour of Malone Dies being in limbo of abandonment in nihility to grasp the blips of hope as the realization of self-disintegration and in between the residuals of acceptance in the insatiable decaying of self, and the eventual cease that soon beholds. The Unnamable, being my favorite, was unutterably magnificent. Unnamable proceeds to neither two stages of Molloy and Malone Dies, but rather, a concoction of both, with a twist on its own. A reconfigurement, a constant questioning of self while slowly descending into the abysmal hole of dissociation, while also guised as a path of reconfiguring, either in complete acquiesce of of a liminal state of self, or a forceful act that allow self to thread the lines of silver linings and the complete dismissal of it. Written in an allurement of fluidity, this constant abject; self-dissociation, The Unnamable felt like a nascent yet naivete being, of a someone who was under forceful duress, of a marionette being controlled by its puppeteer, perceive live in a realm of everything and nothing, at once. He constantly abjects himself, questions the definitions and meanings of self, while slowly discover it all ends to null, and he is eventually, washed down the eroded waves of life, of constant questioning of self, of his existence. 

These eventful cosmic exploration from Beckett's lens — Molloy embarks from the essential pointlessness of life; the solitary, wretched splendor of human existence; but does so in a comical satire which ends up softening or even overpowering the bleakness of his initial premise, then moves forward with the lesser tragedy of Malone Dies where he just, relents to the inevitable decaying of self while also shown the portrayal of his refusal in relenting, and moves forward to The Unnamable where he starts to dissociatively questions his existence, and eventually relent to, go on. The Unnamable haunts me the most, bringing me this illusory yet also ruminating light of ponderation over our own self-abject. Truly a caveat when this desolate and austere trilogy manages to preface you with this sense of disillusionment towards our own individual life, yet also allow you to read this and seeing the parallels in our own atomised and materialistic lives — also bringing a familiar delicate threads of connexions — our own stages of life down the desolation row.

A Editora Globo traz de volta ao mercado Molloy, de Samuel Beckett, uma das obras-primas do romance moderno, em tradução exemplar de Ana Helena Souza. O livro contém, ainda, esclarecedor prefácio da tradutora, cronologia da vida do autor e completa bibliografia de sua vasta obra. Molloy (primeira parte da famosa “trilogia do pós-guerra”, integrada ainda por Malone morre e O inominável) divide-se em duas seções. Na primeira, é o próprio Molloy, o “narrador-narrado”, quem fala; na segunda, é Moran, homem encarregado de vigiá-lo (sem que saiba bem por quê, à la Kafka). A história que os dois – cada um à sua maneira – tentam registrar, é a das idas e vindas de Molloy, num vai-e-vem que alterna lugares abertos e fechados, a partir do apartamento de sua mãe – e que mimetiza os impasses das frases curtas e da própria linguagem, que deveria “abrir” o mundo mas se fecha sobre si mesma. Não por acaso, no caso de Moran, que começa objetivo, isto é, objetivo na linguagem e centrado em seu objeto (Molloy), essa objetividade acaba por perder-se até aproximá-lo da linguagem do próprio Molloy. Não falta ação dramática ao romance, incluindo um caso de amor e um de morte. Mas a verdadeira “ação”, tratando-se de Beckett, está na própria linguagem – ainda que seja a de comunicar a incomunicabilidade moderna.

Nelson Zagalo

Comecei a ler “Molloy” de Samuel Beckett pouco depois de ter lido “The Pattern Seekers: How Autism Drives Human Invention” (2020) de Baron-Cohen, especialista internacional em autismo, e enquanto por acaso apanhava um episódio da série “The Good Doctor” [1] no Netflix, que retratava os dias de internato de um jovem médico autista. Com este fundo, comecei a ver a personagem Molloy emergir das páginas com uma caracterização muito distinta daquela que tinha criado a partir da leitura de resenhas e análises críticas da obra. Procurei saber mais sobre Beckett e descobri que o mesmo — tal como o seu mentor James Joyce — padecia do transtorno do espectro do autismo [2].

...continuar a ler no blog, "Samuel Beckett, e a neurodiversidade", 31 julho 2021
https://virtual-illusion.blogspot.com...

Daryl Houston

I did not love this book, though I feel as if I probably ought to have, as it's apparently considered (with the second and third in the trilogy it belongs to) one of the most important novels of the 20th century.

The first half I found pretty tedious, and that's presumably part of the point. I was doing the intellectual equivalent of tapping my watch to see if it was still running when the first section thankfully came to an end. The second half was initially much more palatable, but then I found Moran so odious (again, by design) that reading his story gave me very little pleasure.

The way the two halves began to engage with one another was a little enticing but ultimately didn't seem a big enough payoff to me given the amount of time and effort even my shallow slog cost me.

Here's hoping the other members of the trilogy manage to lift my estimation of this one.

Dolores D.

Molloy is Samuel Beckett's best-known novel, and his first published work to be written in French, ushering in a period of concentrated creativity in the late 1940s which included the companion novels Malone Dies and The Unnamable. The narrative of Molloy, old and ill, remembering and forgetting, scarcely human, begets a parallel tale of the spinsterish Moran, a private detective sent in search of him, whose own deterioration during the quest joins in with the catalogue of Molloy's woes. Molloy brings a world into existence with finicking certainties, at the tip of whoever is holding the pencil, and trades larger uncertainties with the reader.Then I went back into the house and wrote, It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining. Edited by Shane Weller

Molloy A Novel