Many works of widespread literature earned their notoriety due to the reader’s ability to relate to the context, yet Samuel Beckett’s Endgame describes the world from the perspective of the most dismal humans on it, or possibly beyond it. Clov embodies a horrible nightmare of static misery that hopefully exceeds the reader’s level of understanding. Through his consuming need for order, he erases contentment from his life, anxiously awaiting the last phase of his order, death.
Several times, Beckett describes Clov as having a “very red face” (Beckett 1, 2) in the stage notes. A detail so small, and unaccompanied by intense dialogue that may result in such a feature, must have some sort of significance to its author. Through this simple phrase, Beckett visualizes the life within Clov, although for Clov, life does not equate to living; it is merely the opposite of death and the only obstacle standing between him and his desired death.
Clov uses order as a coping mechanism for such a bleak existence when in reality, the order created the suffering he wishes to avoid. He clearly states “I love order. It’s my dream” (Beckett 57). No other statement (with the exception of longing for death) exhibits this same passion. However, this proclamation does not align with Clov’s routine reflections. Twice Hamm asks Clov if he “has had enough…of…this,” and both times he instinctively replies “Yes!” (Beckett 5). Following such a bold exclamation, Clov must inquire of what “this” refers to, but the instantaneous response provides evidence that he detests every aspect his current situation, including the order. Clov’s desire for order manifested into the “impossible heap” he describes in the beginning; he is unable to live his life (Beckett 1).
Despite Clov’s vocal need for order, Hamm displays a physical need for order to feign comfort in their situation. Hamm, a blind man residing in a gray room, needs to be seated directly in the center. Clov, the self-proclaimed maintainer of order, satisfies himself, but not Hamm, with “more or less” in the center. He continuously misplaces objects and disregards detail when describing the view from the window for Hamm. Clov’s supposed love of order and his contradicting actions may stem from Hamm acting as a father-figure for Clov. Within this convoluted father-son relationship, Hamm taught Clov meanings of words, views of the world, and possibly a need for order. Clov does not love order, but simply the control that results when he enforces it.
A separate occasion displays Hamm curtailing order for a moment and Clov not comprehending this disregard for order. Clov’s desire for order transfers itself onto Hamm’s dog. Hamm wishes to hold his stuffed dog, a wish Clov fulfills reluctantly due to the dog missing a leg. The dog’s missing leg makes it incomplete, therefore not in order, yet Clov obliges Hamm’s verbal order given to him. Clov and Hamm balance each other to not disrupt order.
The inconsistencies in Clov’s actions verify that he has exasperated the need for order, replacing it with an anticipation of death. He states “it may end. All life long the same questions, the same answers” (Beckett 5). Reliability would comfort a man who thrives off order, but Clov regards it as inexhaustible monotony. In a discussion with Hamm about the unhappiness they experience at the end of the day, Clov agrees that it “always” occurs that way (Beckett13). “Always” implies a lack of a definitive beginning, causing Clov to dread the possibility of a lack of a definitive end. There is no beginning offered, yet Clov needs an end. Death would provide the comfort Clov cannot receive from order.
Endgame itself does not offer a beginning as “the very first line of the play is already an ending” (Horowitz 122). Clov’s desire for order that emerges further into the play simply is a means to an end; an end that Clov cannot reach fast enough yet does not want to take action to achieve.
Clov wants to die to escape the suffering he endures, yet towards the end of the play he nearly takes responsibility for imposing the punishment willingly on himself. Hamm’s last request before Clov leaves him is to hear “a few words…from your heart” (Beckett 80). In Clov’s monologue he offers the audience an insight: “You must learn to suffer better than that if you want them to weary of punishing you- one day” (Beckett 80-81). Clov created suffering for himself in hopes of retribution later in life, or a possible afterlife. Upon Clov’s exit he experiences a moment of tenderness when he tells Hamm “it’s I am obliged to you” (Beckett 81). Without the burden of Hamm, Clov’s suffering would not have been so extensive, therefore minimizing the benefits he would reap later.
Clov’s departure contains a multitude of realizations. He realizes that to break free from the cyclical torture, he must break the traditional order. Clov ignores Hamm’s “last favor,” a defiant action not seen until now (Beckett 82). Leaving will give Clov the definitive end he has been searching for, as well as break the order that has punished him. However, the reader never learns if Clov actually does leave, or if he simply goes back to the order of his kitchen.
Beckett does not clearly state the motive behind Clov’s departure. He does not leave to break out of the cyclical, tedious order that encompasses his deserted life in search of true living; Hamm engrained it into Clov’s head that “outside of here it’s death” (Beckett 9, 70). He understands that the consequence of leaving the house is death, yet his is not dissuaded.
