West Chester University

Fall 2004and
Spring 2005

West Chester University

Spring 2003

Fall 2002

Spring 2002

Fall 2001






Course Information
  LIT 165 Syllabus
  LIT 165 Announcements
  LIT 165 Assignments
  WRT 120 Syllabus
  WRT 120 Announcements
  WRT 120 Assigmments

Notebook for Topics in Literature: Imaginary Worlds (Spring 2005)
  Adieu to Imaginary Worlds
  One Last Look at Imaginary Worlds
  Notes on 'Before the Law'
  Samuel Beckett Links
  Notes on 'Waiting for Godot'
  Approaching 'Waiting for Godot'
  Notes on 'Axolotl' by Julio Cortazar
  Notes on 'EPICAC' by Kurt Vonnegut
  DIRECTIONS: Independent Project
  Suggested Readings: Independent Project
  Utopia/Dystopia Links
  Character Analysis: Brave New World
  Analyzing the Brave New World
  Defining Utopia
  Embarking on the Brave New World
  A Critique of BRAVE NEW WORLD
  Dante Links
  Inferno: Final Destinations, Cantos XXXII-XXXIV
  Inferno: Malebolge, Cantos XVIII-XXXI
  Inferno: Questions/Analysis, Cantos XII - XVII
  Structure in the Inferno: Analysis, Cantos V - XI
  Inferno: Questions for Analysis, Cantos I - V
  Introducing Canto I
  Approaching the Divine Comedy
  Relating to Dante's Inferno
  Our Goals for Studying the Inferno
  Assignment Sheet: PAPER #1
  The Birthmark
  Leaf By Niggle
  Responses to Leaf By Niggle
  'On Fairy Stories' by J.R.R. Tolkien
  Notes on Ovid and 'Metamorphoses'
  Analyzing the Mythic Tales
  The Four Functions of Myth
  Myth and Metaphor
  Myth - Links
  Filtering the Introduction to 'Fantastic Worlds'
  'La Belle Dame Sans Merci' and 'The Zebra Storyteller
  Introducing the 'Imaginary Worlds' Theme
  Alice In Wonderland
  The Metamorphosis

Notebook for Effective Writing I (Spring 2004)
  Conference Schedule: 4/21 and 4/26
  Commentary: Following Up Your Response
  Critical Thinking and Commentary
  Casebook: Evaluating Sources
  What is Argument?
  Parts of an Argument
  Casebook Assignment Sheet
  Rubric for Evaluation of Writing
  Assignment Sheet: Essay#1
  Expressive Writing
  Short Stories About Identity
  Thoughts on Stories About Identity
  Poems About Identity
  Understanding the 'Rhetorical Situation'
  Mind-map: Identity

ENG Q20: Basic Writing (Fall 2004)
  ENG Q20 Syllabus
  Frederick Douglass Excerpt
  Propaganda Analysis
  How to Detect Propaganda
  George Orwell's Politics and the English Language
  Propaganda Analysis Exercise

Go Exploring
  Weblog for WRT 120
  Writing Assistance on the Web
  Blackboard at WCU
  WCU Homepage
  WCU's Francis Harvey Green Library



Notes: Class Discussion


Although audiences had already been introduced to modernist, experimental modes of theater before Beckett's Waiting for Godot appeared in 1953, this is the play that had the most profound and wide-ranging impact. This is the play that started a trend which became known as "theater of the absurd." Before this play, audiences could expect the "well-made" play-life-like, psychologically realistic characters, witty dialogue, and well-crafted, causal plots with neatly tied up beginnings, middles, and ends. But the theater of the absurd subverts these expectations at every turn. The characters are unfamiliar, weirdly motivated; their dialogue is filled with non-sequitors and "blather," seeming nonsense. The movement of the plot is arbitrary; there's no identifiable beginning, middle, and end-no "Freytag's pyramid" to help us get a grip on the plot.

Most strikingly, Beckett, like other dramatists working in this mode, is not trying to "tell a story." He's not offering any easily identifiable solutions to carefully observed problems; there's little by way of moralizing and no obvious "message." The circularity of Waiting for Godot is highly unconventional. Even today, it's not what we expect at all. But it's very common in the tradition of the theater of the absurd.

Martin Esslin writes very lucidly about how the theater of the absurd works like poetry rather than narrative. Traditional narrative drama tells a story, develops dynamically. The characters grow and change before our eyes, and that is the point of the story-to reveal that growth, that change. We reflect on why it happened, what it implies, how we relate to it ourselves, what it means. But the theater of the absurd doesn't aim for traditional narrative because it rejects such narratives as too artificial, too contrived. The world isn't really as neat and tidy as all that. Things happen by chance, at random. Chaos and irrationality describe reality better than rationality and order. So the aim is not to create artificially causal plots, but to reveal for audiences a powerful image, which can be literal, metaphorical, analogical, or allegorical-like poetry. The ambiguity of the poetic image, then, replaces the dynamic development of traditional narrative in theater of the absurd. The image Waiting for Godot evokes, then, is poetic and lyrical in essence rather than narrative; like a lot of theater of the absurd, it's both tragic and comic in nature. The play is therefore referred to as a tragicomedy, or "black comedy." The tragedy is the futility-Vladimir's desperation, his growing awareness of the absurdity of his situation; Gogo's frustrated desire to leave. The comedy is everything else.

In Beckett's work, too, we are aware of how the imagery (everything from plot to character to dialogue to set) is characteristically stripped to bare essences. His plays take on an abstract quality which many compare to a kind of abstract expressionism for the theater.

So we come back around to the question: why are these artists so unconventional? Why be abstract? Why not tell a story in the traditional way? Martin Esslin takes up this question in Absurd Drama (Penguin, 1965):

Why should the emphasis in drama have shifted away from traditional forms towards images which, complex and suggestive as they may be, must necessarily lack the final clarity of definition, the neat resolutions we have been used to expect? Clearly because the playwrights concerned no longer believe in the possibility of such neatness of resolution. They are indeed chiefly concerned with expressing a sense of wonder, of incomprehension, and at times of despair, at the lack of cohesion and meaning that they find in the world. If they could believe in clearly defined motivations, acceptable solutions, settlements of conflict in tidily tied up endings, these dramatists would certainly not eschew them. But, quite obviously, they have no faith in the existence of so rational and well ordered a universe. The "well-made play" can thus be seen as conditioned by clear and comforting beliefs, a stable scale of values, an ethical system in full working condition. The system of values, the world-view behind the well-made play may be a religious one or a political one; it may be an implicit belief in the goodness and perfectibility of men (as in Shaw or Ibsen) or it may be a mere unthinking acceptance of the moral and political status quo (as in most drawing-room comedy). But whatever it is, the basis of the well-made play is the implicit assumption that the world does make sense, that reality is solid and secure, all outlines clear, all ends apparent. The plays that we have classed under the label of the Theatre of the Absurd, on the other hand, express a sense of shock at the absence, the loss of any such clear and well-defined systems of beliefs or values.

Bottom line: these artists have lost faith in a well ordered, rational universe. The world is a place where things happen randomly, by chance. You live or you die by chance. The conditions you endure, you endure by chance. There is no well-crafted plan, no scheme of justice by which the universe operates.

Recall the Dante we found in Canto I of the Inferno. He was lost in just such a dark wood of meaninglessness. Didi and Gogo are equally lost in a dark wood, but Godot, unlike Virgil, never arrives.


Nihilism is a radical philosophy of meaninglessness. Wikipedia tells us that it is a "belief in nothing." The world and all the humans in it exist without meaning, purpose, truth, or value. Any system of belief, or artistic expression, that denies or drains away meaning can be described as "nihilistic." Nietzsche famously accused Christianity of being a nihilistic religion because it drained meaning away from earthly life and kept its followers focused on a hope-for afterlife. His declaration that "God is dead" reverberated throughout the 20th century.

It's not too hard to understand why nihilistic philosophy, which eventually gave way to a very un-nihilistic existentialism, threatened to overwhelm us in the mid-20th century. The waning of religious faith which really began in the Enlightenment and grew even stronger with the steady rise in our faith in the sciences was helped along by Nietzsche and the Holocaust. The devastation of WWI put a huge damper on the liberal ideals of secular social progress, and revolutionary movements like communism lost a lot of steam in the wake of Stalin's totalitarianism. Hitler had plunged Europe into barbarism and genocide, justifying mass murder as the "civilized thing to do." Atomic bombs demonstrated how fragile and insignificant human life could be. In the prosperous West, a kind of spiritual emptiness descended. Under these conditions, nihilistic philosophy and art flourished.

Existentialism is a progressive step up from nihilism, because whereas the nihilist asserts meaninglessness out there and leaves it at that (justifying any behavior at all), the existentialist asserts meaninglessness (out there) but goes on to assert that it's the responsibility of the individual to create meaning (in here)-that to create meaning, as Dante created The Divine Comedy to rescue his world from meaninglessness, is our human purpose. Of course it's more complex than that, but that's a bird's eye view of their relationship.

A thoughtful question to ask of Waiting for Godot is whether it expresses a nihilistic or existentialist perspective. And to kick that into high gear, you could ask whether or not it is a postmodern play.


What do you expect from a set when you go to the theater? How does Beckett's set defy your expectations? What's the purpose, do you think, of his unconventional approach to setting?

As precise as Beckett is in his set directions, and as spare as the stage is obviously supposed to be, there is still plenty of room for individual directors to interpret the setting in various ways. For instance, the following two sets are vastly different from the one you saw in the Beckett on Film production.

Here's a set which appeared in a 1970 production at the Landestheater in Salzburg in Austria:

And here theater critic Joanne Klein describes the set used in the Studio Theater production in Washington, D.C. in 1998:

Russell Metheny's set design situated Beckett's vagrants in an environment that announced urban cataclysm ….In the sparsely articulated parking lot of a long abandoned drive-in movie site, Beckett's blasted tree shared the stage with a heap of shredded rubber (rubble?)…. Framed against the backdrop of a slightly askew, artfully corroded drive-in movie screen….

How important is setting to your understanding of the play? How do you think the different stages influence how you understand what's happening in the play?

  • The Salzburg set suggests some kind of grand statement, because the setting seems grand. It's a grand stage all set for a grand tragedy. You might find the play more than a little ironic in such a setting. The tragedy may seem more like tragicomedy. Notice the mirror at stage rear-what a great touch!
  • The Washington set brings the setting closer to home and makes it feel more "realistic." It takes the play out of its surrealistic, dystopian, dream space and places us somewhere immediately identifiable. Suddenly we've seen these two tramps before; in fact we see them every day on East Market in downtown West Chester, by the Salvation Army shelter.
  • The "Beckett on Film" set is less grand than the Salzburg stage and less realistic than the Washington one; instead it opts for the sparseness of Beckett's script: a country road, a tree. The road and the tree are surrounded by mounds of rubble on which nothing grows in the first act, and a little green appears in the second. The set evokes a deadened, blasted landscape (War torn? Over-plowed? Desert? High altitude?) that struggles for growth and renewal despite its devastation.

Each of these sets seeks to amplify some aspect of the play's meaning, or reinforce its impact. Individual directors can pursue different interpretations of the play, which leads to each production being unique in its own right. That is the magic of the theater.


  • In the film as in the theater there is no musical accompaniment. You might have noticed that in the film there was no music soundtrack. That probably seemed very odd to you, even if you didn't think about it consciously. What was the effect of the lack of a music track?
  • The effect most evident is that we hear the silences, which are an important part of the play's imagery. The characters are always trying to fill the silence, which seems to represent some kind of intolerable void. Silence as void, as nothingness, is too disturbing, so they talk and talk ceaselessly to cover up their awareness of this scary, soul-crushing silence. There's no music of the spheres to attend to in Waiting for Godot. But although the characters battle the silence again and again, Beckett seems intent for us, the audience, to hear it, experience it, think about it, feel it. The play creates several vivid images of silence.
  • Michael Worton, in "Waiting for Godot and Endgame: Theater as Text" observes the multifaceted silences in Waiting for Godot, noting the "silences of inadequacy, when characters can't find the words they need; silences of repression, when they are struck dumb by the attitude their interlocutor or by their sense that they might be breaking a social taboo; and the silences of anticipation, when they await the response of the other which will give them a temporary sense of existence." In all of these ways, Beckett makes "silence communicate."


The one lighting effect is when day turns rapidly to night and the moon rises. The surrealistic, dreamlike effect of this heightened change from day to night amplifies the theme of uncertain time.


Several biblical references enter the play, but some of the allusions that are less obvious are literary ones.

At the end of ACT I, Gogo's comment about the moon alludes to a Shelley lyric:

"To the Moon" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

AND, like a dying lady lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The mood arose up in the murky east,
A white and shapeless mass.

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Shelley's poetry continues to reverberate in ACT II. These allusions are some of the play's very few external references. Macbeth later echoes faintly, but distinctly, in Pozzo's speech about the brevity and apparent meaninglessness of existence; are we suspended for one flickering instant between the birth canal and the grave? These references let us know that Gogo really was a poet, that these were educated men. Here's the relevant passage from Macbeth (V,v:10-30):

MACBETH: I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in't: I have supp'd full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.

[Re-enter SEYTON]

Wherefore was that cry?

SEYTON The queen, my lord, is dead.

MACBETH She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.


Traditional cause/effect plot development is abandoned in Waiting for Godot. The movement of the play is circular and symmetrical. The second act parallels the first. Nothing new happens except the tree grows leaves, indicating a surrealistic passage of time. The characters engage in ways that closely parallel the first act; the key difference seems to be an increased struggle in the second act to "pass the time," which passed quickly in the first act because of Pozzo and Lucky, whose appearance is briefer in the second act. The dilemma intensifies in the second act because Gogo is more and more desperate to leave and Didi has to continually remind him why they mustn't leave because they're waiting for Godot. There is a kind of climactic thematic crescendo in Pozzo's parting speech and another in Didi's brief speech just before Godot's messenger arrives for the second time. These brief speeches don't necessarily provide much of a climax to the action as much as they deepen themes already established.

You can see how this play presents us with a non-traditional plot, although there is a dilemma: the characters want to go but feel "stuck" waiting for Godot. They want to commit suicide, but have grown either too apathetic or too helpless to act on their desires. Habit deadens their own cries as surely as it deadens the cries of others.


We can't fail to miss the theme of uncertainty in Waiting for Godot. Uncertainty is pervasive throughout the play: the uncertainty of purpose, of time, place, emotion, relationships, truth, and hope. Existence is the only certainty the play allows. The Cartesian dictum "I think, therefore I am," is challenged, but essentially hold true. Didi and Gogo are themselves vivid dramatic representations of the Descartes' body/mind split. Didi is all mind, Gogo all body. Thinking and inexhaustible talking may not be the same thing, but in the absence of the one the other will do. Throughout the play thinking is associated with doubt, with uncertainty, weariness, or absurdity. Clearly, the image of our ability to think is challenged in this play.

Related to this critique of our rational capabilities is the play's critique of language as meaningless blather and chatter on the one hand and oppressively authoritarian on the other. At times it is coercive; other times it's rhetorically empty, full of hot air-worse than blather-hypocrisy, or mystification. Only rarely does it serve us well, leading us to truth or beauty, but we can't sustain those functions very well. Pozzo's poetic description of the twilight may be true and even beautiful, but it peters out-"And that's how it is on this bitch of an earth." Or we may run from the truth we've brought it to express, as Didi does near the end of the play-"What have I said?"

The critique here seems to stem from a deep, postmodern distrust of the efficacy or absoluteness of language. We place our trust in it, but should we? Language is the source of all our illusions, the source of all the mythic fictions we've invented to console ourselves from an awareness of our real condition. These fictions have blinded us to the reality, the truth of our existence. The only truth is this present moment, and to waste it by hoping for some future "salvation," by waiting for a Godot that never comes, is tragic and absurd.

The language of the play is stripped bare, scaled down to its naked essence. You won't find a writer more capable than Beckett in this regard. The beauty of Beckett's language is in its absolute economy. It's a tight little fist that punches hard. The language of this play forces us to reflect on how we use language, really. Is it as neat and tidy as we think? Are we really that concerned about being logical or rational? Do we really describe "reality," and how rational or logical is reality? How much of what we say is emotional, illogical, and ambiguous?

In all of its aspects, including its language, Waiting for Godot confronts the absurdity of existence and challenges us to figure out who we are and what we're doing here. In this random universe, where everything who lives and who dies, who's up and who's down, is a matter of pure chance, and the odds aren't necessarily in our favor, what do we do? What's our purpose? The existentialist would say that our purpose is to confront our existence, our being, to be aware of and a part of every passing moment-to make choices, to act-to live authentically, in good faith, aware of our essential freedom and responsibility. This is what Didi can't or won't do, and he persuades Gogo to keep him company while he continues to wait for Godot, while he pins his hopes on a future that may never arrive. His futile waiting is either absurd or heroic, depending on your own interpretation.

Beckett was interested, it seems, in the relationship between hope and despair. Are Didi and Gogo in despair? Or do they have faith?

There's quite a lot more we could observe in terms of theme, though having said so much already, I think meaning in this play is probably best approached subjectively. How do you talk about the meaning of a circle? My observation of the play and everything I've read about it leads me to conclude there is very little objective interpretation which will make this play mean much more than it means quite obviously on the surface. Two tramps are waiting for someone they think will help them, but this person, Godot, never arrives. It seems reasonable to assume that Godot will never arrive, but Didi and Gogo go on waiting, perhaps because they hold out hope that he will, perhaps because they have nothing better to do.

But what is this play really about? What does it all mean? What does it all have to do with us? Some audiences see immediately how they, like Gogo and Didi, are waiting, too. Maybe not for "Godot," but for something. A little help, a little push, a little sunshine, a little windfall. The play takes pains not to be specific, to provide the space to read into it any way we want to. It does not preach a "message." But when you think about it even a little bit, you realize that, just like Gogo and Didi, we're waiting all the time, too. Think about it: aren't we waiting for the war in Iraq to end, waiting to catch Osama bin Laden, waiting to win the war on terror? We're waiting for President Bush to smoke out the evil-doers. If you're a banker or a stockbroker you might be waiting for an end to bankruptcy court or class action suits or social security or taxes. Or an end to racism….an end to poverty, drug abuse, domestic violence… Many of us are waiting for environmental disaster, the next world war, the next flu epidemic, the next school shooting, the next terror attack… we're waiting for security, good times, that great vacation, that better job, that better wardrobe, that better car, that smaller computer, smaller cellphone; we're waiting for the perfect soul mate, the perfect body, the perfect moment… we're waiting for our hopes to be heard, our prayers to be answered, our wishes to be granted… we're waiting, and meanwhile, we're….here.

Waiting for Godot is a poignant play about such waiting, about the repetition, the meaninglessness, the absurdity of waiting, of feeling (and being) suspended in time instead of moving forward in a meaningful direction. It's not necessarily about the absence of God, or about Christian salvation, or existential despair, or nihilistic meaninglessness, or postmodern critiques of language, though interpretation is a subjective enterprise, and we can interpret literature how we choose. Still, many critics agree that a sensitive understanding of this play includes the awareness that it's really an abstract play about waiting, about waiting for the possibility of a better future that we are not quite fully convinced will never arrive.

How do we arrive in this seemingly absurd state of waiting? Laying an existential interpretation atop the play, we might say that this play confronts an unpleasant truth about the human condition. As human beings we're all clinging to the hope of some kind of salvation, some kind of Godot to come and save us from our intolerable suffering-our poverty, our disease, our boredom, our quiet desperation. This hoping, this waiting, removes us from the potentially liberating awareness that the moment we're actually suspended in, this moment between birth and death that glows so briefly, is ultimately more important than any vague "better future" we might desire.

Everything in the play points to suspension: suspension of time, suspension of progress, suspension of reason, suspension of purpose. As drama, every convention has been suspended; the characters and their dialogue dance around in the ether of a nearly empty stage. There's no shortage of void, as Didi declares. It seems the only thing that's not suspended is our disbelief. These absurd characters are, ironically, so believable, so ultimately realistic, that it's barely necessary to remind ourselves we're in an imaginary world.






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