Michael Coffey (1) (1954–)

As I read this, I am reminded of Hamlet when asked by Polonius what he is reading: Words. Words. Words. This book is a lot of words strung together to make sentences and paragraphs, and that is about all it is. There are doubtless many who will assume this is a work of genius because of the the unstructured within a structure nature, the rambling incoherence, and the long words the author uses. I suspect the author is trying to imitate Samuel Beckett in the lack of fluidity and lucidity and story and meaning, but you should never try to imitate someone whose greatness far exceeds your own; rather, find your own style and stop trying to ride on the greatness of others. The book is simply painful to read, because it says very little that is worthy or interesting, except when it is copping other people's words, (Samuel Beckett especially) and it mingles tidbits from 9/11, Gitmo, and various other sources into the narrative in a jarring, intrusive way. I love absurdism but this book fails to achieve that feeling. Give it a pass.… (mer)

Samuel Beckett came of age when artists were moving fast and breaking things. In painting, sculpture, music and literature, it was fashionable to go abstract. And Beckett, working with Joyce, leapt to the forefront in his multifaceted use of French and then English. Samuel Beckett Is Closed tries hard to do in structure what Beckett did in language. The title refers to Beckett’s later writings, all interiors, dimness and darkness, inward looking and often grim. He was full of negations, contradictions and reversals. And everything he wrote could be both interpreted and spoken in different ways, for completely different effects. He employed the vagueness of language like Shakespeare manipulated emotions. Michael Coffey emphasizes Beckett’s message that we must go on, even when we can’t.

Samuel Beckett is Closed is a braid of several streams. They are distinguished by different fonts, weights and spacing on the same page. Following them all is not difficult, just puzzling, like much of Beckett. It’s all very stagey. You can easily picture three or four actors standing on an empty stage, reciting the words of their separate universes. They eventually morph into straight criticism and appreciation by Coffey, and then suddenly become a short play, showing Beckett’s influence. This is about as far from standard criticism as you can get. I think Beckett would approve.

As Coffey says early on: “When you read the whole of Beckett, even if you think you are caught going nowhere, you are going somewhere.”

David Wineberg… (mer)