Waiting for nothing

For some reason, I think that there’s no way that Godot is coming. Maybe it’s from the way he keeps pushing back the idea, or the idea instilled in the back of my head that says that when you expect something in literature or English class, it usually doesn’t come out the way you expect it to, but every time they repeat that they’re waiting for Godot, I truly believe he is never coming. Now I’m not particularly sure where the play is going due to my utter confusion from trying to understand the author’s language, but it seems like Samuel Beckett doesn’t like to follow rules. Especially for a play written back in 1953, every turn that the plot takes adds another layer of complete freakishness. Whether it be Lucky’s speech of gibberish or the constant changes in topic, it continues to stray from the norm. 

Going back to the idea that usually things are not what you expect, the author’s style of writing reminds me of the Stranger (if you couldn’t tell by my several other blogs, this is my favorite novel from this year) in the weirdest way possible. The constant confusion which the reader experiences is the main similarity between the two works, but the constant differences is what made me relate the two. Despite both being based on the concept of absurdity and a lack of meaning in life, Waiting for Godot is full of utter chaos and an uneven plot, while the Stranger is cold and calculated. But the confusion in both works is aligned with the idea that there are constant surprises. And in a full circle we get back to my main point: Godot is not coming.