Good Godot!

Apropos of nothing in particular, I have been gathering all my textbooks for university over the past couple of weeks and was intrigued to note the first literary text we'll be studying for French. A primary-school-aged reader, the Gallic answer to Dick and Jane? Non. A classic work by a revered French figure, like, say, Victor Hugo or Marcel Proust? Non. Would your eyebrows raise if I told you that the first work of literature I'll be dissecting this semester will be En Attendant Godot, the original version of Samuel Beckett's best-known work? If you're anything like me, your answer will be yes. Waiting for Freakin' Godot? Really?! I don't know. It was the last thing I was expecting, that's all. And I'd forgotten that it was originally written in French.

I'm a big fan of Monsieur Beckett, so it's not that I'm bitching about it. I mean, the language is pretty simple, which is perfect for novice Francophones. Let's face it, it could have been a French translation of anything by Bryce Courtenay, so this little Vegemite's not complaining.

He was an interesting figure, Samuel Beckett. Lectured in French at Trinity College, was stabbed in the street by a stranger, then went on to work for the French Resistance, managing to escape the Gestapo along the way. As if that didn't make for a colourful enough existance, he worked for the Red Cross for a couple of years as the war ended. Then he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in the late Sixties. Then finished his life at 83 not only still producing art of the highest quality, but with one of the most interesting faces you're likely to see anywhere.

Incidentally, if the devil ever offers you a chance to own the Beckett on Film series in exchange for your mortal soul, my advice would be to consider taking it. It's jaw-droppingly, life-changingly superb.