An Absurd Read

This play, I do not like.  This plot, I do not like.  Waste my time, I have not.  Waiting for Godot is an absurdist play about, well, nothing much.  Why then, is it not a waste of time?  The writing reminds me of the power of imagination and— sort of like Don Quixote— the curious nature of man. 

In Don Quixote, the adventures and travails of a mad man that thinks he is a knight are described; in Beckett’s play, insanity.  They are also both very similar to The Stranger.  In all of these novels, the accepted way of thinking is that life is what you make of it and there are no obligations.  Whether it is the mourning process or the waiting process, the suicidal thoughts or the valiant thoughts, all of the authors play with the idea that it really doesn’t make a difference.  Through the plot and beneath the phrasing lies this paradigm.  Rarely in this play is anything of value discussed, or even hinted at.  Nevertheless, precisely this is what makes one feel that the lack of meaning gives meaning.  In The Stranger and Don Quixote, I found myself thinking about the meaning of the use of certain words, I looked for symbols.  In Waiting or Godot, I knew from the very beginning that the alleged absurdist play was famous for its lack of meaning, so I didn’t look or find any interesting aspect.

I don’t enjoy reading absurdist text.  I feel that it doesn’t apply to my life.  At least for now, I plan on aligning myself to many societal customs, such as, for instance, actually doing something!  Beckett’s play attempts to propose a harsh idea about life as a theme: absurdity.  In truth, throughout the writing of this blog, I have convinced myself, reading that play was a waste of time.