Beckett exposes the spiral whereby the more the mind circles around its impasse, taking pride in its resources of observation, so the deeper the impasse becomes, the sharper the pain, the greater the need to find a shred of self-respect in the ability at least to describe one's downfall. And so on. But understanding the trap, and the perversity of the consolation that confirms the trap, doesn't mean you've found a way out of it; to have seen through literary consolation is just another source of consolation: at least I've understood and brilliantly dramatized the futility of my brilliant exploration of my utter impotence.
Tim Parks, The Chattering Mind, NYR Blog


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