Imagination Dead Imagine by Samuel Beckett
"Imagination Dead Imagine" is a short story by Samuel Beckett that presents a stark exploration of existence through a narrative rich in ambiguity and detail. The story features a narrator who encounters a small rotunda in a desolate white wasteland and examines its structure and occupants with a clinical detachment. This rotunda, characterized by its circular design and two human bodies within, becomes a site of contemplation, where the narrator reflects on themes of imagination, memory, and isolation. As the narrator interacts with the space, stark contrasts emerge—between light and dark, warmth and cold—symbolizing the fragility of both the environment and human experience.
The narrative's tone oscillates between exploration and resignation, as the narrator ultimately acknowledges the impermanence of the rotunda and the impossibility of rediscovering it. This leads to broader reflections on the nature of life, imagination, and the remnants of a past world. The story invites readers to consider the significance of detail in Beckett's universe, where the mundane intertwines with the profound, and where each observation raises deeper existential questions. Through its evocative imagery and sparse language, "Imagination Dead Imagine" challenges the reader to grapple with the complexities of meaning in a seemingly barren landscape.
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Imagination Dead Imagine by Samuel Beckett
First published: "Imagination morte imaginez," 1965 (English translation, 1965)
Type of plot: Fable
Time of work: Possibly after a nuclear holocaust
Locale: Unspecified
Principal Characters:
An unnamed narrator , who discovers the rotundaTwo unnamed humans , one female, one male
The Story
The terse, ambiguous title of this story is consistent with the tale itself, in which a narrator describes flatly the real (or imaginary) discovery of a small rotunda in a white wasteland, the investigation of the same with some scientific care, and the final withdrawal from it after its dimensions, shape, and occupants have been systematically examined. The narrator leaves, convinced that there will be no chance of ever finding the building again.
The obvious thinness of such an overview may sufficiently convince a reader that something more is going on, and that a more detailed account must be given to make sense of the story. Detail is important in Samuel Beckett's world, and this tale is full of it.
The story begins in mid-conversation, in which the oral shorthand must be deciphered by the reader. The speaker seems to be rejecting with abrupt arrogance a comment that there is no sign of life. Unconcerned, the speaker suggests that it is irrelevant so long as imagination exists, but he immediately accepts the possibility that even imagination is dead. Good riddance to it and its inclination to describe the world in terms of the old nature as humankind knew it. The narrator posits a world of unrelieved whiteness, one in which a small building appears. He gets inside the building and measures the interior, a circle divided into two semicircles. Without evidencing any surprise, he records the presence of two human bodies, one in each semicircle. He checks the structure inside and out, testing its solidity, commenting on its bonelike quality. Inside, it is intensely bright and hot. The bodies are sweating.
The narrator goes out, moves away, and ascends. One must presume that there is some kind of vehicle, although it is not mentioned. As he ascends, the building disappears in the landscape and then reappears as he returns. This time, inside the building, the lights start to dim. Over a twenty-second period the room goes black, and the temperature drops to freezing. Then the light and heat come on again. These changes begin to happen irregularly, and the passage back and forth is sometimes interrupted, at which time everything, including the ground, shakes. There is some comfort in the stillness at the extremes of light and dark, and, significantly, a comment is made that such calmness is not to be found in the outside world.
At this point, then, some connection with a past world is established, and some modest feeling is expressed. The building is commented on as a miraculous discovery, and the further point is made that there is no other like it. After what seems to have been a long space voyage through perfect emptiness, a place of peace, albeit a limited peace, has been found.
The story starts to make some sense as a record of the discovery of the last remnant of the world, but at almost the same time, the light and heat patterns become erratic. Attention turns to a precise description of the humans, lying in their jackknife positions back to back. There is now little calm in the room, and the bodies are difficult to observe closely because of the increasing agitation of their surroundings. They are alive, sweating, breathing, and occasionally opening an eye.
There is a very muted suggestion that a sigh might barely raise some reaction in the form of a quickly repressed shudder from the figures, but the narrator does not pursue it. The narrator leaves, suggesting and immediately denying the possibility of a better example of this sort of thing somewhere else. There is no expectation that the rotunda could ever be found again.