No Exit Writing Idea:
dm Oct. 18, 08
Sartre’s play, No Exit showcases the central aspect of his existentialist philosophy: that
each human being is in absolute control over his/her existence.
In the play, three characters, a man and two women, find themselves in hell, which for
them is a living room with Second Empire furniture. Each of the characters needs the
other two in order to create some illusion about him/herself. Since existence, for Sartre,
is--to create one's future--the opposite of existence, where man has no power to create his
future, is hell.
This idea is emphasized throughout the play in various ways; you could choose any of the
manifestations of this idea for your own writing. Use any format that works for your
concept (poem, prose, short scene from a play).
1.) At the end of the play, Gaston says, “Hell is other people.” In Sartre’s scenario each
character is trapped with two individuals they despise, who taunt them and thwart any
effort they make to find peace of mind. Imagine two people that are designed to torment
you, what would that torment look like?
2.) In Sartre’s play even the room is designed to annoy its inhabitants. Think about the
place you have chosen as your hell. Does it look ordinary, like Sartre's drawing room, or
is it equipped with literal instruments of torture? Can the mind be in hell in a beautiful
place? Is there a way to find peace in a hellish physical environment?
3.) Could hell be described as too much of anything without a break? Whether it is
chocolate or your favorite song? Could you imagine a ‘paradise’ that you would grow to
despise if you had to spend eternity there without a break?
4.) How does each of the characters respond to their situation?
Both Garcin and Estelle are consumed by the image that others have of them. Their
tarnished images cause them torment, which they try to alleviate by convincing each
other to reflect the image they wish to see of themselves. This is Sartre's definition of
man's fundamental sin. When the picture a man has of himself is provided by those who
see him he has rejected what Sartre calls reality. In social situations we sometimes play a
part that is not our self. Are there ways that people change to please others, or put too
much stock in others’ perceptions of them? Write a piece that deals with it in some
manner.
5.) One aspect of Sartre’s ‘hell’ is that it is extremely subjective (different for everyone,
based on individual experiences). Don’t go for anything cliché (don’t give us the typical
biblical images of hell): imagine an experience that constitutes hellishness for you.
"No Exit" Writing Idea
The Dead
dm 10/08
by Billy Collins, from Questions About Angels
The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.
They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,
which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.
The Afterlife
Billy Collins, from Questions About Angels
While you are preparing for sleep, brushing your teeth,
or riffling through a magazine in bed,
the dead of the day are setting out on their journey.
They're moving off in all imaginable directions,
each according to his own private belief,
and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:
that everyone is right, as it turns out.
you go to the place you always thought you would go,
The place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.
Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors
into a zone of light, white as a January sun.
Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits
with a golden ladder on one side, a coal chute on the other.
Some have already joined the celestial choir
and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,
while the less inventive find themselves stuck
in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.
Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,
a woman in her forties with short wiry hair
and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.
With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door
There are those who are squeezing into the bodies
of animals--eagles and leopards--and one trying on
the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,
ready to begin another life in a more simple key,
while others float off into some benign vagueness,
little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.
There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld
by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.
He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.
The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins
wishing they could return so they could learn Italian
or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.
They wish they could wake in the morning like you
and stand at a window examining the winter trees,
every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.
Heaven
Everyone is trying to get to the bar.
The name of the bar, the bar is called Heaven.
The band in Heaven plays my favorite song.
They play it once again, they play it all night long.
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.
There is a party, everyone is there.
Everyone will leave at exactly the same time.
Its hard to imagine that nothing at all
could be so exciting, and so much fun.
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.
Heaven is a place where nothing ever happens.
When this kiss is over it will start again.
It will not be any different, it will be exactly
the same.
It's hard to imagine that nothing at all
could be so exciting, could be so much fun.
Heaven is a place where nothing every happens.
Heaven is a place where nothing every happens.
by David Byrne and Talking Heads
Cat in an Empty Apartment
By Wislawa Szymborska (1993)
Dying--you wouldn't do that to a cat.
For what is a cat to do
in an empty apartment?
Climb up the walls?
Brush up against the furniture?
Nothing here seems changed,
and yet something has changed.
Nothing has been moved,
and yet there's more room.
And in the evenings the lamp is not on.
One hears footsteps on the stairs,
but they're not the same.
Neither is the hand
that puts a fish on the plate.
Something here isn't starting
at its usual time.
Something here isn't happening
as it should.
Somebody has been here and has been,
and then has suddenly disappeared
and now is stubbornly absent.
All the closets have been scanned
and all the shelves run through.
Slipping under the carpet and checking came to nothing.
The rule has even been broken and all the papers scattered.
What else is there to do?
Sleep and wait.
Just let him come back,
let him show up.
Then he'll find out
that you don't do that to a cat.
Going toward him
faking reluctance,
slowly,
on very offended paws.
And no jumping, purring at first.