In
the orthodox and largely unexamined conception of language that reigns in the
classic novel, language is a communication system that people employ in order
to control their environment, achieve their goals, and realize their desires.
In Beckett, language is a self-enclosed system, a labyrinth without issue, in
which human beings are trapped. Subjecthood, the sense of being a subject and
having a self, dissolves as one follows the twists and turns of a voice which
speaks through one but whose source is unknown (does it come from inside or
from outside?). Why not silence, rather than endless monologue? Molloy has no
answer: ‘Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able
to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly
ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.’ (p.
28)
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