“[Waiting for Godot] [—[t]]he play [—] opens with Estragon struggling to remove a boot. Estragon eventually gives up, muttering, “Nothing to be done.” His friend Vladimir takes up the thought and muses on it, the implication being that nothing is a thing that has to be done and this pair is going to have to spend the rest of the play doing it. When Estragon finally succeeds in removing his boot, he looks and feels inside but finds nothing.”
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting_for_Godot; my emphasis)
There must be a lot of people who live lives in which nothing much is to be done. Is that because they, perhaps like Jonathan Payne, don’t go out of their way to make things happen? Or is it because they are taking their time to do it?
It troubled me to read from Tonya Cannariato’s review of Living with the Truth and Stranger Than Fiction that:
“[g]iven my own philosophical inclinations, this was a tough pill to swallow. Having let the story sit (and having taken longer than my normal book-in-a-day digestion), I can see Murdoch is noodling on some interesting themes, but I can’t say my appreciation for his pedantic style or nihilistic conclusion has sat with me any better.”
After reading that, I’m left wanting to know what those philosophical inclinations are and how they’ve been thought through in relation to the work being reviewed. Since when did the hours of effort and thought that an author puts into their work come down to the matter of whether or not it sits well with the critic/reader? Are some colours harder to swallow than others?
The lip sync was out when I watched that. It didn’t sit well with me. Does it sit well with you?
Just a thought.
What will happen if I relieve Estragon from his boot and use my poetic licence to call it a pair of gloves before he succeeds at removing it?