I find it difficult to talk about this book, so as I read I am looking for a comment about this book. I think this comment is interesting.
“What happened?"
“Nothing happened.”
“Why did nothing happen?
“How would I know?”
“You would know.”
“I would?”
“Yes.”
“How I would know?”
“Because you read it.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.“
“How do you know?”
“It is on your shelf.”
“So?”
“You rated it.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means you have read it.”
“Oh I have.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Why did nothing happen?”
“Because they were waiting for Godot.”
Waiting and nothing – I could take these two words and use them in as many combinations as the rules of probability allow to create a ‘review’ that would be as much meaningful as it would be meaningless. I could draw upon the elusive symbolism of the text in the manner of a perspicacious hermeneut whose convoluted exegesis would only serve to frustrate him even more. Or like a blurb-writer I could summarise the four-and-a-half characters, the austere landscape, the leafless tree, the role of the taut rope and jangling bucket, and the heap of nonsense, but what would that achieve?
Suffice it to say that the sheer speed of the bare dialogue makes you want to slow down and look for something queer happening between the lines, but nothing happens. Or perhaps everything happens? You can look at from any number of angles and it adapts itself to your point of view. You can attach any meaning to the memorable symbolism and it helps you comprehend that meaning. You may hypothesize at will and the text will lend you a hand to prove it.
Beckett in his frugal minimalist brilliance paints a powerful imagery of an agitated self, a helpless being, a lonely traveller, in eternal yet meaningless wait, which life ultimately is, till we take the final leap into oblivion. The act of wait, which is an act of life, is given a comic dimension in the play. By the end the reader becomes one with the characters, waiting for things to happen, for something to happen, but nothing ever happens. Yet life happens.
I think it's impossible to review Waiting for Godot adequately, not even after a long and thorough analysis, because in that case one would be seeking directions where none exist.
The best review of the play is the one that is not written."
