Abstract

In 1976, while Samuel Beckett was rehearsing Footfalls and That Time in Berlin, an American avant-garde composer, Morton Feldman, made him a surprise visit. Beckett was utterly astonished when Feldman asked him to write a libretto for his new opera that had been commissioned by the Teatro dell’Opera in Rome. The Irish playwright told Feldman that he did not like opera and suggested him to use one of his own existing texts, as the French composer Marcel Mihalovici had done. However, Feldman immediately replied that those works did not need music in them. Furthermore, Feldman had never composed an opera and thus had no idea of what he wanted from him. He just knew that Beckett was the only person who could offer him the ‘quintessence’ of what he was searching for. After Feldman showed him a score of one of his own pieces, Beckett wrote what he considered the main theme of his life on it: ‘To and fro in shadow, from outer shadow to inner shadow. To and fro, between unattainable self and unattainable non-self.’ At the end of the month, while Feldman had already started composing the music, Beckett sent him unexpectedly a card with a handwritten text called Neither, containing 86 words in 10 lines. The opera Neither premiered at the Teatro dell’Opera on 13 May 1977 receiving a very negative reception. The opera had no plot, no scenery, and apparently no ‘Beckett’ but solely a soprano that sang in a seemingly wordless manner.

Keywords: Libretto; non-self; re-elaboration; repetitiveness; voice

At the end of the play Happy Days (1961), while being swallowed up slowly by the sand in the desert, the female protagonist Winnie sings softly a waltz. It is an English translation of the love duet ‘Lippen schweigen’ from Franz Lehár's The Merry Widow (1905).

In 1996, US provocateur John Perry Barlow, in his 1996 ‘Declaration of the Independence of Cyberspace’, announced

Nicholas Negroponte equally colourfully forecast that the nation state would shortly evaporate like a mothball left in the sun, something at odds with experience in 2022 and recognition that states are useful for provision of welfare, biosecurity, consumer protection, utilities and other purposes. This book began by describing New Horizons in terms of an archipelago of islands within a virtual world. The existence and operation of that world involve a range of law, some embodied within each island (and internalised by players in ways that they might not recognise) and some functioning as a legal framework around the game. That law demonstrates the problematical nature of claims by Barlow and Negroponte, in particular because the players and owners of the game (just like the physical infrastructure enabling the game) are located in terra firma and thus susceptible to enforcement action by nation states or private entities endorse by those states. This chapter offers a high level of some of that law and its implications.

Abstract

Beckett's deep immersion in the visual images of the Italian Old Masters emerges in the pages of several scholars, although this story has yet to be told in coherent and comprehensive terms. This essay focuses mainly on the Irish playwright's interest in, not to say fascination with, Michelangelo Buonarroti, a giant through whom he may have found his artistic way. From his first published story, Assumption to Catastrophe, in which Protagonist stands on a plinth like a sculpture, Michelangelo was firmly rooted in Beckett's mind and played a pivotal role in his theatre, a role that is somehow impossible to describe with precision but inescapable.

Keywords: Michelangelo; sculpture; directing; stone; contrapposto; Bruce Nauman; Old Masters; curatorship; Giorgio Vasari.

In the Italian Rooms

The impact of Italian Old Masters on Beckett's plays is a story not yet written in coherent and comprehensive terms, even if Beckett's deep immersion in the visual images of Italian Old Masters emerges in the pages of several scholars. It suffices here to mention James Knowlson, who reports that Beckett's first visit to Florence, in 1927, was ‘a breathtaking revelation:’ the Pitti Palace, ‘the sinister Uffizi’ gallery, the Academia with Michelangelo's David; the Church of Santa Maria Novella, the Brancacci Chapel of Santa Maria del Carmine with Masaccio's famous frescoes.

While writing that Beckett generally ‘preferred the Dutch and Flemish painters to the Italians’, the biographer argues he ‘was not insensitive to the wonders of the Florentine Tizianos, Giorgiones, Peruginos, Uccellos and Masaccios’. Insensitive he certainly was not, as is proved by the many references to Italian art scattered throughout his artistic oeuvre and in numerous letters.

Unlike the broken man C in That Time, for whom the National Portrait Gallery is merely a place to shelter from the rain and cold, Beckett was famously an assiduous and knowledgeable visitor and also a connoisseur of the Italian Old Masters. Sometimes he even rightly doubted what the curators and the official catalogues said about an artist. Notably, experts had to conclude Beckett was right when he observed that Giorgione's Venus Sleeping in Dresden's Gemäldegalerie was ‘in a mess’. As he suggested to his friend MacGreevy, ‘the putto with the arrow and the bright bird sitting at her feet (by Giorgione or Titian?) was painted over with senseless landscape in the 19th century and the whole line of the left leg is destroyed’.

Not so long ago, before the age of Trump, Professor Gautam Mukunda's mentor asked him why so many crazy people run countries (Mukunda 2012). The answer gave rise to a brilliant book called Indispensable. I will have much more to say about that later. In the meantime, we are exploring a new field of research called “heroism science,” a term apparently coined three years after Mukunda's book appeared (Allison 1, 2015). Much of the scholarship in this area has been gloomy. For instance, psychologists Paul Babiak and Robert Hare produced startling statistics about mental illness in the executive suite in their book Snakes in Suits. They found that 3.5 percent of the 200 executives they studied were psychopaths, compared to just 1 percent of the general population (Babiak 2006). As if that statistic weren't scary enough, they argue that psychopathy, narcissism, and Machiavellianism form a “dark triad” in the corporate world. Unfortunately, many compromised leaders have ample charisma, which intensifies their impact and perhaps hides their faults (Mukunda 2012).

In this book, we have approached the hero (and her or his journey) from a hybrid perspective, on a spectrum from scoundrel to saint, with a dynamic outlook. We regard heroism not just as a personal characteristic, but as a series of actions in given situations and contexts. This is what makes “hybrid heroism” so fascinating, part of a tradition harking back to the story of Lucifer, the lapsed angel turned avenger. Instead of alternating between good and evil, the hybrid hero moves along a continuum between the extremes.

Storytellers have long understood the vast appeal of these warring opposites. Alfred Hitchcock believed that strong villains made strong movies (Stone 2019). Indeed, rogues and heroes often compose “opposing sides of the same story” (Gölz 2019, 27). In fact, we as audiences can experience fear and pleas-ure simultaneously, a phenomenon known as “co-activation,” which explains the seemingly inexplicable appeal of horror (Stone 2019). Even mass marketer Disney exploits these contradictory sensations: witness the company's public relations campaign in Japan with the slogan “Welcome to the world of delightful villains” (Prusa 2016, 2).

(a) History of the Kings of the Ottoman Lineage and Their Holy Raid(s) against the Infidels

• 1. I narrated this history because the urge suddenly came into my heart.

• 2. Even words are an anxiety. They are inspiration.

• What is the cure for this? It is completing (the work).

• 3. Those kings whom I mentioned?

• I have spoken of their deeds and characters.

• 4. Some were infidels, some showed cruelty—more of that in them than kindness.

• 5. Concerning the justice of the Mongol Sultans:

• Hear now the explanation of what it was.

• 6. They did not mention the fact that

• Cingīz Ḫān clearly oppressed the people.

• 7. They [the Mongol rulers] oppressed them with the law, but they did not paint their hands with blood.

• 8. Lawful oppression and confiscation

• Are amenable to the people as a form of justice.

• 9. For us there are many deficiencies in those accounts.

• Let us speak now without (such) defects.

• 10. Since all those of a cruel nature have been remembered,

• let us bring to mind those of a just nature.

• 11. Let us recall those lords who, first to last,

• were both Muslims and dispensers of justice.

• 12. The duty of all of them is to fight infidels.

• What they wear and eat is their licit property.

• 13. Let us make it [the history] the conclusion to this book

• and, with it, let this (İskender)-nāme be complete.

• 14. I shall compose a ġazāvetnāme for you.

• Listen, but do not interrupt me.

• 15. Do not ask why the holy raiders were mentioned last.

• Do not ask why they appeared at the end.

(b) Apology for Postponing the Deeds of the Holy Raiders

• 16. What comes later is better than what comes earlier.

• Those who think will understand why I say this.

• 17. The True One was munificent when He bestowed on humans power, intelligence, and life—that is, existence.

• 18. Intelligence, no doubt, was best of those three, and it had to appear at the end of them.

• 19. That Messenger [Muḥammed] came at the end of the prophets.

• He was the last and the one honored above all.

• 20. It is the Qurān which appeared last of the four books.

• It is through (its) superiority that it abrogated them.

• 21. Because man came last of all,

• Through his superiority, he mastered all.

Thus far, we have focused largely on how roads and interstate systems can bisect habitats in ways that can prevent species from migrating or making their way to breeding sites; moreover, when roadways bisect habitats, species run the risk of losing their biodiversity through inbreeding. Within the field of road ecology, however, there has been less focus on the ways that railroads and railway systems can similarly disrupt ecosystems as a result of train tracks and tunnel systems being constructed in vulnerable habitats. Railway systems perhaps receive less attention because they are less consistently traveled than roads and highways.

Wildlife Implications of Railways Versus Roadways

At the same time, it is also inaccurate to make an easy comparison between cars and trains, as they and their environmental implications are far from the same, and each has different impacts on ecosystems and biodiversity. While train traffic may be less frequent than car traffic, trains travel much faster than cars. Additionally, interstates and railways are also structurally and physically different, “especially in the case of electrified railways, where overhead lines along the rail tracks can represent an additional source of impacts. All these differences are likely to affect wildlife responses to roads and railways.” And while trains are often viewed as a more climate-friendly and sustainable mode of transportation compared to vehicles, they too contribute to pollution, wildlife deaths, and habitat fragmentation. That said, statistically, railways are significantly safer than roadways, at least for people and cargo.

As described by Borda-de-Água et al., a 2013 report by the European Railway Agency notes that the “fatality risk in the period 2008–2010 measured as the number of fatalities per billion passenger-km is 0.156 to railway passengers and 4.450 for car occupants. In fact, following the same report, transport safety is only surpassed by the airline industry with 0.101 fatalities per billion passenger-km.” Railways are also more environmentally friendly than roads because a diesel-powered train is more energy efficient than its equivalent number of cars, and an electric-powered train is not a direct source of greenhouse gas emissions. Railways generally also occupy less land than roads and interstates.

Samuel Beckett's interest in Italian culture dated from his juvenile years. It is well known that he graduated from Trinity College in modern languages (French and Italian) and that he took private lessons from his language tutor, Dr Bianca Esposito, a figure who nurtured his interest in Italian literature, was fictionalized as Adriana Ottolenghi in Dante and the Lobster and remained in his memories till the last days. The first trip to Italy took place in 1937, starting from Florence and its Renaissance heritage. While these Italian connections are by now an integral part of Beckett's biography, the way in which his early works established a strong connection between the Italian language and Italian arts has been far less noticed. The most clear examples in this regard come from Beckett's early prose works, More Pricks Than Kicks and Dream of Fair to Middling Women. Belacqua Shuah, the ‘hero’ of More Pricks Than Kicks, is an eager student of Italian and a witty connoisseur of Italian art, with a specific interest in the Renaissance. He clearly acts as Beckett's mouthpiece. Walking and singing through the streets of Dublin, he ironically superimposes Florence to the Free State capital:

Belacqua's Italian imagery vehiculates a subtle attack on Irish provincialism and on British stereotypes about Italy as an exotic, timeless museum. However, Beckett's negotiations with Italian art and language run far deeper. The creative multilingualism of his erudite, post-Joycean intellectuals draws on this imagery in order to outline a parody of modernist cosmopolitanism itself. Beckett, as stated in his Dante… Bruno. Vico.. Joyce, was well aware of the dangers of ‘the neatness of identifications’.

To suggest that wildlife corridors are a necessary component of restoring lost habitat connectivity requires an understanding of some of the concepts that shaped the conceptualization and implementation of wildlife corridors in the first place. To begin, as defined by the research group Conservation Corridor, a corridor is “a habitat whose main function is to connect isolated patches of habitat that would otherwise be inaccessible.” Next, understanding the value of wildlife corridors also requires knowledge of the concept of connectivity or the ease with which species are able to move between different appropriate habitats.

Understanding Connectivity

As mentioned in the Introduction, ecological connectivity refers to “the unimpeded movement of species and the flow of natural processes that sustain life on Earth.” As habitats become increasingly fragmented, and as biodiversity continues to be threatened by the processes of infrastructure development, climate change, and other forces driving the Anthropocene, it becomes even more critical to protect connectivity (Figure 2.1). As Hilty et al. note in their 2020 IUCN report, Guidelines for Conserving Connectivity through Ecological Networks and Corridors: “Science overwhelmingly shows that inter-connected protected areas and other areas for biological diversity conservation are much more effective than disconnected areas in human-dominated systems, especially in the face of climate change.” Moreover, to achieve this, the 2020 IUCN report recommends establishing an ecological network for conservation to help establish ecological corridors and achieve connectivity. The IUCN defines an ecological network for conservation as “a system of core habitats […] connected by ecological corridors, which is established, restored as needed and maintained to conserve biological diversity in systems that have been fragmented.” This network, or system of core habitats, would ideally be comprised of protected areas, other effective area-based conservation measures (OECMs), and other intact natural areas. Together, these areas would constitute an ecological corridor; in other words, functioning in the positive, an ecological network would be connected with ecological corridors. An ecological corridor “is a clearly defined geographical space that is governed and managed over the long term to maintain or restore effective ecological connectivity.” While it is possible to achieve connectivity conservation goals without the presence of a network per se, ecological networks for conservation “are more effective in achieving biodiversity conservation objectives than a disconnected collection of individual protected areas and OECMs because they connect populations, maintain ecosystem functioning and are more resilient to climate change.”

This chapter examines the way that British women reworked their memories of their travels through their souvenirs at the turn of the nineteenth century. According to Susan Stewart, souvenirs operate metonymically – that is, they are fragments that stand for larger events and experiences. As an example, she notes that a ribbon saved from a corsage ‘is metonymic to the corsage, [and] the corsage is in turn metonymic to an increasingly abstract, and hence increasingly “lost” set of referents: the gown, the dance, the particular occasion, the particular spring, all springs, romance, etc’. Over time, these lost and abstracted referents are substituted by the narrative of the souvenir's possessor – that is, a narrative of their own ‘interiority and authenticity’. I argue that through a souvenir practice of observation and reflection, British women tourists of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries undertook microtravel long after their original physical journeys were over.

British women tourists brought objects home from the travel environment as souvenirs. They also wrote of objects from the travel environment following their return home, informed by sketches and notes they had taken in situ (themselves objects and a form of souvenir). The women could use these fragments as literal or figurative touchstones to ‘travel down’, as Michael Cronin has described it, ‘into the particulars of place either in space (botany, studies of microclimate, exhaustive explorations of local landscape) or in time (local history, archaeology, folklore)’. They could also build on their observations of the objects to reflect on larger questions of history, culture, politics and identity, and themselves. This chapter starts with an exploration of British women tourists’ souvenir practice of observing (closely perceiving the particulars of a place by taking an object from it and/or drawing or writing an object-oriented impression) and reflecting (developing narratives over time). Their microtravel depended on an ‘interplay of spontaneous notation in the field and retrospective narration on return’. In the latter part of the chapter, I explore the traveller Hester Piozzi's souvenir practice in greater depth, as she reworked her memories of her 1784–6 Grand Tour over time to develop an identity as a demi-naturalized Welsh-Italian woman.

Literary theorists have been analysing the importance of identity in recent decades, both in regard to the characters in books and to the people who write those works. For example, what is the nationality, ethnicity, religion, ideology, sexuality, gender or ability of a character or an author and how does it impact the way they write or are written about and how does it affect our understanding of the person and/or the text (e.g. see Bennett and Royle 2009, pp. 179, 199, 216, 234)? In translation studies, more recently, questions that have been raised include the following: Which authors get translated and why? Which authors are left only in their own language or in a select few other tongues? Who gets to become a translator and through what means? Who is invited to translate a given work and why are they considered the right or most appropriate translator for that particular text? Are there ways of challenging the choice of texts to translate and people to translate them? How does translation complicate ideas of nationality or other forms of identity? As Wilson notes, citing Peter Newmark, the ‘views and prejudices of the translator, which may be personal and subjective, or may be social and cultural, involving the translator's “group loyalty factor,” which may reflect the national, political, ethnic, religious, social class, sex, etc. assumptions of the translator’ (2009, p. 54).

In this section, I will focus on some aspects of identity on a larger scale. I am not fully inclusive here due in part to word count restraints and in part because of a lack of research. An example of a missing topic is how someone's sexuality might affect how and what they translate, and how translation in turn might impact on understandings of sexuality; but perhaps what is explored here can inspire ideas about additional aspects of identity and their intersection with translation.

4.1 Translation as a form of Building National, Cultural and/or Linguistic Identity

Rita Kothari and Krupa Shah state that ‘[t]ranslation in the twentieth century has acquired this new role – of fostering group pride and history and also of enacting linguistic and cultural identities’ (2019, p. 140).