Today’s post, by guest author and student of English literature Grace McLoughlin, is the sixth and final one in our series revealing undergraduate students’ reactions to working directly with the Library’s world renowned Samuel Beckett literary manuscripts. Again the Library thanks Dr Julie Bates, Assistant Professor in Irish Writing, in the Department of English.
Imogen McGuckin is the fifth of our guest blog authors in the ‘Beckett afterlives’ series. All are students in the Department of English and all have kindly provided feedback on their experience of working directly with the library’s collection of Beckett literary archives. Imogen writes:
For a student of English Literature, the notebook in which Beckett penned ‘Imagination Dead Imagine’ offers an invaluable opportunity to investigate the authorial process behind the novel. At first glance, I struggled to see how anything emerged from a manuscript in which almost every paragraph has been crossed out. Even the front cover exhibits the original title – ‘FANCY DEAD DYING’ later eliminated by several lines of black marker and replaced by ‘IMAGINATION MORTE IMAGINEZ. However, a flick through the pages yielded many examples of the author’s prolific writing – and doodling, both in French and English.
For me, the value of this notebook lies not in what was written, but rather in what was retained and eliminated. Beckett’s imagery, rhythm and process of composition illuminate the meaning of the final text. Following consultation of both the manuscript and the first edition, I suggest that ‘Imagination Dead Imagine’ explores and experiments with the authorial creative process.
Unlike the Ussher Library – my usual library of preference, the Manuscripts & Archives Research Library allows only for you and the text. All baggage – literal and metaphorical, is deposited in a locker outside. My initial scan of Beckett’s notebook revealed that, for the most part, the left-hand pages showed disconnected lines of text and doodles, while the right-hand pages contained paragraphs of prose. For example, on page six the author writes; ‘and for how long, and for what if any purpose’, in a less italicised hand than the paragraphs opposite and partnered by a doodle of a stick-man. For the most part, Beckett’s handwriting is forward slanting – thus, the upright and vertical handwriting on page six indicated a chronological difference between the writing of this phrase, and those opposite. The author’s frustrated and questioning tone, together with his doodle, suggested Beckett was struggling creatively when he wrote on page six.
Further investigation of Beckett’s doodles made me wonder if, like me, Beckett was left-handed. I noticed the positioning of his drawings matched those in my own jotter. When left-handed, it is more comfortable to write on left-hand pages as those on the right involve uncomfortably resting your palm on the binding of the notebook. I briefly felt I had insight to a human side of Beckett. Sadly, while there are many references to Beckett’s cricketing prowess as a left-handed batsman, (and sometimes bowler), he was in fact right-handed.
The author’s floating lines, doodles and eventual paragraphs remained in my thoughts when I read the first edition of ‘Imagination Dead Imagine’. In the novel, Beckett’s syntax and punctuation manipulate the reader’s speed and flow. One example of this can be seen on:
‘It is possible too, experience shows, for rise and fall to stop short at any point and mark a pause, more or less long, before resuming, or reversing, the rise now fall, the fall rise’.
Here, the author’s rhythm and punctuation mirror the wording: after ‘mark a pause’ he inserts a comma, thus forcing his reader to pause. Furthermore, ‘the rise now fall, the fall rise’ causes the voice’s intonation to drop for the first half and rise on the second. The beginnings of this syllabic specificity are apparent on page eight of the manuscript, where he experiments with the words ‘… ne pas trop …’, by numbering them ‘9, 10, 11′ after their syllabic order. These then become ’11, 12, 13’ as Beckett inserts the word ‘tout’. The author’s study of syllables as seen in his notebook suggest he intended to manipulate his reader in the final version.
The central aspect of ‘Imagination Dead Imagine’ is the ‘plain rotunda, all white in the whiteness’. Through this image, Beckett explores a binary of light and dark which is continued by, ‘light and heat come back, all grows white and hot together, ground, wall, vault, bodies, say twenty seconds, all the greys, till the initial level is reached whence the fall began’. The rotunda through its whiteness suggests the untouched paper, while ‘the rise now fall, the fall rise’ describes the lifting and falling of the writer’s pen.
In a letter to Ethna McCarthy, Beckett described ‘the exercise-book that opens like a door and lets me far down into the now friendly dark’ (Fintan O’Toole, “Beckett in Love add link http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2015/04/02/beckett-in-love/). This concept of light and dark within the page forms much of Imagination’s imagery and is particularly pertinent when we consider how many lines of rejected material fill the author’s notebook. Phrases such as ‘Out of the door and down the road in the old hat & coat like after the war, no, not that again’, suggest an author struggling for new material. The refrain “not that again” appears repeatedly and indicates frustration in the author’s search for original thought. One phrase in support of this theory is “Out of the deathbed and drag it to a place to die in, that again”. The deathbed appearing in ‘Molloy’ and ‘Malone Dies’ is a frequent theme in Beckett’s prose and appears again on page thirty-three of the Imagination notebook. While Beckett’s imagery of light and dark within the rotunda mimics the rise and fall of the author’s pen, the punctuation and syllabic order manipulate his reader. As a result, my consultation of Beckett’s notebook illuminated how ‘Imagination Dead Imagine’ is a text about authorial creation itself.
Last week we kicked off our series of guest blog posts written by students of English who have had unique access to the Library’s Beckett manuscripts collection. Our second author is Rory O’Sullivan:
This is the first in our planned series of guests posts authored by students of Dr Julie Bates, Assistant Professor in Irish Writing, who took part in a pilot scheme which gave them unusual access to the Library’s internationally significant Beckett manuscripts. Leah Kenny kindly provided the following text which she dedicates to her ‘Nanny and Grandad, who have always inspired me to create and follow my dreams’:
To celebrate the sesquarcentennial – that’s 350th – anniversary of Jonathan Swift’s birth Trinity College has organised something completely different: a collaborative online exhibition reuniting original Swift artifacts from all over Dublin.
Trinity College Dublin has a very important place in the history of satirist Jonathan Swift (1667-1745). Not only was he a student here but the first record of his existence known to scholarship is his name inscribed in the student admissions book and the record of one of his examinations in the College. Swift’s time as a student in Trinity was not his finest moment. In his memoir he complains that he was awarded his degree by special grace (that is, he almost didn’t graduate) even though he claims to have followed all the rules. The archives don’t lie, however, and the future Dean of St Patrick’s Cathedral appears to have been fined several times for misdemeanours such as insolence and ‘haunting the town’.
Trinity is marking the 350th anniversary of Jonathan Swift’s birth this year with a number of activities. There is an exhibition from the Library’s world-renowned collection of Swift-related books and manuscripts in the Long room. This collection was developed partly through gift and bequest and the exhibition showcases particularly the generous bequest of American Swiftian A. C. Elias. Also planned is an international conference on 7-9 June at which experts will speak on themes such as Swift and politics, travel, family and friends.
To re-imagine Swift’s Dublin, the Library has embarked on a new departure. For the first time, a collaborative online exhibition has been curated which brings together Swift-related artifacts which still survive in places outside the College: these include St Patrick’s Cathedral, where Swift was Dean; Marsh’s Library, much frequented by Swift; and St Patrick’s Hospital which was built as a result of the bequest left by Swift for a hospital to care for individuals with mental illness. Included in the exhibition are a snuff box (from the Cathedral), a wine bottle (from the National Museum), and the writing desk upon which Swift wrote Gulliver’s Travels (from St Patrick’s Mental Health Services).
Commenting on the continued relevance of Swift in the 21st century writing, Dr Aileen Douglas of the School of English remarked that ‘for a long time eighteenth-century Protestant writers like Swift were seen as not Irish, but in works like the Drapier’s Letters Swift can be seen beginning to speak for the Irish nation.’ A great part of Swift’s legacy lies in the work Gulliver’s Travels, which has never been out of print since it was published in 1726 and which belongs, not just to Irish literature, but to world literature. Dr Douglas remarks that ‘its relevance only increases over time. Gulliver is always on a voyage, never quite belongs and is in the end totally alienated. In today’s world of movement and dispossession there is a great deal of resonance there.’
The Library thanks all its collaborators in the making of this exhibition.
Dr Jane Maxwell