All Strange Away: Steamy Mathematic Intimacy?

Hi. I’m aware. It’s been awhile. I’m also aware that I ended my last review with the phrase “higher, further, faster.” Unfortunately, Carol Danvers could not have predicted the writing slump I’ve found myself in over the past few weeks. This semester, admittedly, is decidedly less heavy with fiction and far more packed with theory and journal articles. But if you (anyone out there) would like for me to write some pieces about Indigenous LGBTQ2+ writers, I’d be happy to write something if there’s an audience for it! But for now, whoever you may be, please accept my sincere apology for my inconsistency. It will probably keep happening, but I’m still sorry ‘bout it.

Today, however, I’d like to attempt to write about Samuel Beckett’s short prose piece, “All Strange Away.” This, however, is probably ambitious because if you’ve ever read Beckett’s prose before, you’ll understand that there is nothing like it. I’m currently taking a class on his work and I believe we spent about twenty minutes last week on whether or not there truly are any other previous works that can be connected to his Texts For Nothing. Unsurprisingly, amidst our shared knowledge, we failed worse than we did at trivia two nights prior in coming up with anything. If you’re new to Beckett, though, hi there. Welcome! It’s a little spacious in this room as the possibilities are endless (and especially considering I have no authority in this field at all). And yeah, that can be scary. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

“All Strange Away” begins with the captivating first sentence, “Imagination Dead Imagine.” Straight away, this world (if we can associate this space with the world as we know it) is turned upside down with Beckett’s ~strange~ use of syntax and grammar. There is an absolute abandonment of standard sentence structure, so if you were looking for a subject, object, and verb, then I’m afraid you’ve taken a wrong turn. But what should Imagination Dead Imagine propose to mean? He later writes a short piece in conjuncture with this piece with that very same title. So obviously it means something; I myself am still grappling with it. After, he writes “A place, that again.” So are we to understand that Imagination Dead Imagine is a place? Or is it a subtitle? Or perhaps it is the anacrusis to the main melody. As I said, the possibilities are endless and I’m not even sure that there is a necessity in choosing just one.

What is clear about this piece, though, are a few key themes that work themselves into repetition throughout. The first of these is some sort of mathematics as the speaker consistently refers to algebraic variables in conjuncture with the (possible) setting of the writing, which is (likely) a box that keeps getting smaller. He writes things like “And even lie, arse to knees say diagonal ac, feet say at d, head on left cheek at b.” This brings up the next consistency of “All Strange Away,” which is bodies. This is even more strange than the variables considering that, even though there is a character name (Emma), if you read closely, there is no identification of how many bodies are in this maybe-space, what they look like, if they can shape themselves into the wild angles that Beckett describes, or if they are, as my professor would say, ghosts that have a consciousness but no body attached to them.

What struck me most while reading this piece was Beckett’s ability to paint somewhat of a picture without any sort of concrete setting. He only gives the square footage of the space and the angles that the bodies or body move(s) into while they engage in what I can only assume to be some steamy mathematic intimacy. He keeps repeating, “Fancy is his/her only hope” as if desire for connection is the only thing that keeps a repetitive, pervasive, blinding light at bay within the small confines of this maybe-world.

Most interesting about Beckett's work, as I have tried to illustrate, is the ambiguity not only of “All Strange Away” but of his writing in general. In this piece, one of the notes I wrote in the margins (again, don’t come for me) is “absolute fluidity and restriction.” What might be happening in this piece of prose is an outright limitation of the confines in which the character(s) exist(s), but within this restrictive space, I think some extraordinary gender work is happening. The words begin to describe the intimacy, or “Fancy,” as something happening to someone named Emma, but the name shifts to Emmo at one point, and the bodies get lost in their abilities and ambiguities, never retaining any sort of stability in their actions or identities. I think what might be happening here is, possibly maybe, an exploration of sexuality beyond gender identity. And that’s pretty exceptional.

Beckett’s world, though confusing in every way possible, is actually, truly, one of the most interesting new categories in my own little literary world. And we didn’t even get to the title! I can’t explain it, but I kind of inexplicably understand it as I read it. And I’ll admit, I’m kind of using this blog post to sort out possibilities in voicing these potential understandings of his work. Let's hope this experiment works!

Once again, my wildly unqualified self is, I suppose, required to give a rating? But I don’t think Beckett’s work needs live in these superficial, biased rating systems. My prof told me how, when Beckett won the Nobel Prize, his wife answered the call and said “what a catastrophe.” So it feels weird! I just think you should go read his work and decide your own thoughts on it!

But if it’s my opinion your looking for (for some reason), then all I can say is that amidst the confusion, the work is miraculous. No rating needed.

Thanks for reading! And stay warm!