Terry Eagleton is not a fan of sloppy thinking, especially when it comes to the granite fact of death. He particularly doesn’t like the attitude of Dylan Thomas who famously urged his ailing father to “not go gentle into that good night”. If the “night” – death – is so “good” then why, asks Eagleton reasonably, would Thomas want his dad to dawdle? Shouldn’t DJ Thomas, rather, be encouraged to trot towards his lovely end like an ecstatic marathon runner on the home straight?
Eagleton’s reproach to Thomas’s doublethink should not be read as panicky denial about the reality of his own mortality. To the contrary, Eagleton, who at 83 admits that he wasn’t sure whether this book would end up being published posthumously, finds it hard to think or write about much else. After a 60-year academic career spent tussling with Marxist literary theory, not to mention the epistemological void at the heart of postmodernism criticism, these days Eagleton is more interested in pondering death and how it “lacks a sense of occasion”. It might visit, for example, while you happen to be dressed in a giraffe outfit.
