As I stated in a previous post, The Dollmaker is a book about people. It's also a profoundly Christian book. What I mean is that it is deeply religious in much the same way as Flaubert's "A Simple Heart."
Gertie, much like Félicité, is devout in her own way, without necessarily observing traditional practices or following conventional interpretations of the Bible or its lessons. Unlike Félicité, however, she actually does have an incredibly comprehensive knowledge of the Bible; she can recite countless passages from memory and also has her own ways of applying them to her life. For example, Gertie's mother believes in Christ as a wrathful figure, in that a person's sins would not be forgotten by him. Gertie, however, says, "'Mebbe they's another side to Christ. Recollect he went to th wedden feast, an had time to fool with little youngens, an speak to a thief an a bad woman. An Henley was like Christ -- he worked an loved his fellowmen," continuing by thinking that there is "a Christ who loved people, had liked to mingle with them and laugh and sing" (64). The preacher in Kentucky that she thought was "closest to God" was the one who "worked with his hands like Jesus, but better yet she'd never heard him try to scare the souls of the people loose and herd them up to God like driving stampeded sheep into a locked barn" (104). She objects to images that depict the Virgin Mary as beautiful and flawless -- "'She was a worken woman an allus a goen here an yonder, like into th desert to see her cousin. She seen too much trouble to look that away...had a heap a youngens, an worked hard'" (262). Like Félicité, she is unaware of some facets of the religion (if we're talking about religion as an organization and not a personal belief system). For example, on Good Friday, she tries to go shopping and is confused when stores aren't open. Clytie scolds her, saying, "'You're supposed to stay home an pray er go to church er some kind a movie...or they'll call yu heathen what never heared a Christ,'" to which Gertie responds, '"I ain't so certain Christ ever heared uv it either. I'd lots ruther recollect him alive a goen to feasts an sich than on this...'" (382).
Gertie also uses passages from the Bible to comfort herself and others around her, despite the tensions between Catholics and Protestants in the housing projects. Thus, the book has a strong message in favor of the Christian faith as a personal tool. Arnow doesn't write about religion in order to praise it as an institution; she believes in being devout in order to make you a better, more compassionate person.
This works for Gertie. She continues to go back and forth to decide whether her block of wood should be Judas or Jesus and whether it should be taking something or giving something with its outstretched hand. When she is forced to charge more than she wants to for manufactured, impersonal dolls she makes, she looks at the hand she has carved and thinks, "Her hand would never be like that; she had two hands now, one reaching out making people drop into it money that might have gone for down payments" (507). She feels guilty about this for a long time: "She'd been wanting to finish the lifted hand that lingered longingly above the money in the other hand; for it was money -- taken -- but soon to be given away. The man, then was Judas; but she didn't want Judas. Christ had had no money, just his life. Life and money: could a body separate the two?...No, it wasn't Judas. She'd bring the face out right now, prove to herself it wasn't Judas" (564). Still, though, her whittling "brought some calmness to her...Even long ago, when only the top of the head was out of the wood, below it had seemed a being who understood that the dancing, the never joining the church, had been less sinful than pretending that she believed" (584).
Ultimately, this belief -- that she is still devoted to Christ and the good messages in the Bible, and so are others that she knows -- is what makes the ending so affirming (although it's still sad, because everything in this book is sad). With Clovis on strike, she needs good wood to make dolls and figures to sell, and, although she has just finished the man in the wood -- except for a face -- she takes him to the wood lot and asks the owner to cut him up. He hesitates, admiring the beauty of the figure, and ultimately she is the one who takes an ax to the figure. The lot owner laments that she couldn't find a face for him, to which she responds, "'No. They was so many would ha done; they's millions an millions a faces plenty fine enough -- fer him...Why, some a my neighbors down there in th alley -- they would ha done'" (599). This is the last sentence of the book. So, while Gertie is effectively destroying a part of herself by chopping up the man -- namely, the part of herself that resists "adjusting" to life in the city -- she is also confirming her religious faith and her belief that anyone has the capacity to be good and devout. Any of her neighbors could have been the saintly figure's face. It's a beautiful last sentence.
Close reading influenced my understanding of this book a lot. Definitely O'Connor's (and Perrine's) opinions about how symbols function in literary works aided me in understanding the block of wood. I don't think the different appearances of the block would have stood out to me as much had I not read these authors' opinions. Of course, it's hard to read a book now and not think about what Foster had to say -- the idea of Christ figures is pretty literally and symbolically evident in this book. And I guess I'd like to think I read with my spine here, which would make Nabokov proud (maybe); this book has such vivid descriptions and is so full of intense emotions that it's hard not to really feel what you're reading. Overall, I think these skills made me appreciate Harriette Arnow's craftsmanship so much more.
Because of the fact that I appreciated this book so much, I would definitely recommend this book. I would say that it's probably not for everyone, as it's quite long and a lot of the passages don't have a lot of action in them. But if you're looking for a book that is just a really great story about people and their faith, this is the best you're going to get. Fair warning, it's incredibly depressing, but as I said, it's also very affirming about the goodness of human nature. Also, if you're interested in the contrast between rural Kentucky and industrial Detroit during World War II, as well as religious and cultural differences and labor relations, or any of the above, this is a great read. I loved this book. It was a great match for a lot of subjects I'm interested in, but even without that, there is so much to be gained from this story's messages. That's why I'd recommend The Dollmaker by Harriette Arnow.
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Jesus or Judas?
The block of wood that Gertie has been working on carving plays a huge role as a symbol in the book. It is first introduced in the very first chapter, when Gertie explains that she just can't figure out the right face for it. For a long time, she considers the face of Judas: "'Not Judas with his mouth all drooly, his hand held out fer the silver, but Judas given th thirty pieces away. I figger they's many a one does meanness fer money -- like Judas. But they's not many like him gives th money away an feels sorry onct they've got it'" (23). At this point in the book, "There was only the top of a head, tilted forward a little, bowed, or maybe only looking down, but plainly someone there, crouching a secret being hidden in the wood, waiting to rise and shed the wood and be done with the hiding" (48).
When Gertie is given the money from Henley's savings and thinks she can buy the Tipton Place, the land she wants, "She had her land -- as good as had it -- and the face was plain, the laughing Christ, a Christ for Henley" (81). When the owner of the land tells her he wants her to have it, she thinks, "It was Christ in the block of wood after all. Soon he would rise up out of his long hiding into the firelight, the laughing Christ...Her Christ had to be that way...Wicked she had maybe been all these years because she could see only Judas in the wood -- the Judas she had pitied giving back the silver. Pity, pity. Was pity for a Judas sinful?" (127). But when she finds out she has to go to Detroit to be with Clovis and can't keep the land, she thinks, "...she had always known that Christ would never come out of the cherry wood. Seemed like all week he'd cried for her knife in the firelight, and now he was gone" (145).
When she goes to Detroit, she has the block of wood mailed to their home. She wonders how long it will take for it to get there, asking herself, "Where was it now?...Was everything lost?" (161). It arrives: "If right now she and the wood could be alone together, she would bring out the face. His face was so clear -- Christ coming down through the October field with the red leaves in one hand, an ax in the other. It was so plain, a little like Henley's face" (226). But she hardly has time to work on it: "Gertie had, some time ago, promised herself a Christmas gift. She would, she had decided, pleasure herself...with working again on the block of wood. But with all the children home there was so little room" (289).
When Cassie dies, Gertie becomes depressed, staying in her bedroom for days. She is preoccupied with the idea of finishing the figure in the block of wood. But she has lost direction in terms of what to carve. "The man in the wood at first seemed far away...the knife fumbled, a lost knife hunting a lost man in the wood" (417). She begins to work on it: "One side now was no block of wood at all, but the cloth-draped shoulders of someone tired or old, more likely tired, for the shoulders, the sagging head, bespoke a weariness unto death" (438). Then, "She knew the hands would not be reaching out, but holding -- holding lightly a thing they could not keep. The head was drooped in sorrow, looking once at the thing it had to give away" (444).
The block of wood is the one thing Gertie has control over in her life. And it's not just something she has the power to shape, to care about, and to make into whatever she wants as a literal block of wood to be carved. It also represents her life; her feelings about herself, the direction she's going in, and her faith in humanity. At the beginning, she is unsure of herself and the way she wants to go (pondering over what face is "hiding" in the wood). When she feels confident about buying the Tipton Place, the block will be a laughing Christ, happy and self-assured. When she arrives in Detroit, and for a long time after that, it's cast aside, representing her confusion (but also her faith in her ability to return to her original goals: both the Tipton Place and the face of the laughing Christ). After Cassie's death, the figure becomes sorrowful, full of regret -- it's pretty clear that it symbolizes her desires and her dreams of being independent at home in Kentucky, and her faith in the world and the people around her.
When Gertie is given the money from Henley's savings and thinks she can buy the Tipton Place, the land she wants, "She had her land -- as good as had it -- and the face was plain, the laughing Christ, a Christ for Henley" (81). When the owner of the land tells her he wants her to have it, she thinks, "It was Christ in the block of wood after all. Soon he would rise up out of his long hiding into the firelight, the laughing Christ...Her Christ had to be that way...Wicked she had maybe been all these years because she could see only Judas in the wood -- the Judas she had pitied giving back the silver. Pity, pity. Was pity for a Judas sinful?" (127). But when she finds out she has to go to Detroit to be with Clovis and can't keep the land, she thinks, "...she had always known that Christ would never come out of the cherry wood. Seemed like all week he'd cried for her knife in the firelight, and now he was gone" (145).
When she goes to Detroit, she has the block of wood mailed to their home. She wonders how long it will take for it to get there, asking herself, "Where was it now?...Was everything lost?" (161). It arrives: "If right now she and the wood could be alone together, she would bring out the face. His face was so clear -- Christ coming down through the October field with the red leaves in one hand, an ax in the other. It was so plain, a little like Henley's face" (226). But she hardly has time to work on it: "Gertie had, some time ago, promised herself a Christmas gift. She would, she had decided, pleasure herself...with working again on the block of wood. But with all the children home there was so little room" (289).
When Cassie dies, Gertie becomes depressed, staying in her bedroom for days. She is preoccupied with the idea of finishing the figure in the block of wood. But she has lost direction in terms of what to carve. "The man in the wood at first seemed far away...the knife fumbled, a lost knife hunting a lost man in the wood" (417). She begins to work on it: "One side now was no block of wood at all, but the cloth-draped shoulders of someone tired or old, more likely tired, for the shoulders, the sagging head, bespoke a weariness unto death" (438). Then, "She knew the hands would not be reaching out, but holding -- holding lightly a thing they could not keep. The head was drooped in sorrow, looking once at the thing it had to give away" (444).
The block of wood is the one thing Gertie has control over in her life. And it's not just something she has the power to shape, to care about, and to make into whatever she wants as a literal block of wood to be carved. It also represents her life; her feelings about herself, the direction she's going in, and her faith in humanity. At the beginning, she is unsure of herself and the way she wants to go (pondering over what face is "hiding" in the wood). When she feels confident about buying the Tipton Place, the block will be a laughing Christ, happy and self-assured. When she arrives in Detroit, and for a long time after that, it's cast aside, representing her confusion (but also her faith in her ability to return to her original goals: both the Tipton Place and the face of the laughing Christ). After Cassie's death, the figure becomes sorrowful, full of regret -- it's pretty clear that it symbolizes her desires and her dreams of being independent at home in Kentucky, and her faith in the world and the people around her.
Cassie and Callie Lou
The Dollmaker is the saddest book I have ever read. This is not only because of the specific events that occur -- which are tragic -- but also because everything that happen to the Nevels family, especially Gertie (and there are a lot of bad things that happen to them), are completely plausible.
The most pivotal of these events, in my opinion, is the scene in the book when Cassie, Gertie's youngest daughter, is killed.
Cassie had always had an imaginary friend named Callie Lou. Gertie had always indulged Cassie's make-believe games by pretending to see the imaginary friend. However, once the family moves to Detroit, Cassie is ridiculed for talking to Callie Lou. Clytie, the oldest daughter, begs, "'Mom, I wisht you'd make her quit talken to herself that away; th kids'ull laugh at her'" (256). Mrs. Anderson, their neighbor, says "'Talking to herself so much is rather bad, don't you think?'" (378). Clovis instructs Gertie to tell Cassie to stop. Gertie doesn't think it's right to do so -- "'A body's got to have somethen all their own'" (379) -- but she bends to the wishes of the people around her. She tells Cassie to stop talking to her friend.
Gertie soon changes her mind about banishing the imaginary friend and tries to find Cassie to tell her. Cassie is playing on the railroad tracks. What follows is one of the most well-written scenes of suspense and tragedy I have ever read. The tension builds for what seems like forever as Gertie tries desperately to get to her daughter off the tracks. A plane flying above them is deafening, so Gertie "could only try to send her screams above the airplane that circled ever lower" (404). A high fence stands between Gertie and the tracks, but she cannot get through the tiny hole. She tries to find something to throw to get Cassie's attention. She runs into the street to go around and it she hears trains rushing past. She finally gets to the tracks and finds a horrific scene: Cassie's legs have been severed off at the knees by the train. She's alive, but barely, and dies on the way to the hospital, despite Gertie's pleas to her -- "'Cassie, honey, you can have Callie Lou -- allus an forever you can have Callie Lou'" (409).
This is the only time I've ever cried while reading a book. At the hospital, it only gets worse. Gertie procures the hundreds of dollars she's saved over the years and hands it to Clovis. She thinks she can pay to take Cassie's body with her sooner. Clovis drops some of the money at one point, and a policeman literally steals it from her, right in front of her and with no shame, even though her daughter just got killed by a train (412).
The scene is so important to the book not only because it is crucial to the plot, but also because it symbolizes all of the things that Gertie thought would go wrong when she moved to Detroit. Her inability to reach Cassie represents her increasing separation from her children, both physical and emotional. Her son Reuben had already run away back to Kentucky because he hated Detroit and thought his mother was responsible for the move. Because she can't help Cassie, and also because she feels responsible for her death, Gertie feels weak and ineffectual. It's also fitting that Cassie would be killed by a train, with an airplane above, after Gertie ran into a busy street, with the factory behind the train tracks. Life in an industrial city is literally taking Gertie's children from her.
(There is even more cruel irony when Clovis tries to make Gertie feel better by telling her that, had he known she had had so much money saved up, he would have told her to stay in Kentucky and buy the land she always wanted.)
The most pivotal of these events, in my opinion, is the scene in the book when Cassie, Gertie's youngest daughter, is killed.
Cassie had always had an imaginary friend named Callie Lou. Gertie had always indulged Cassie's make-believe games by pretending to see the imaginary friend. However, once the family moves to Detroit, Cassie is ridiculed for talking to Callie Lou. Clytie, the oldest daughter, begs, "'Mom, I wisht you'd make her quit talken to herself that away; th kids'ull laugh at her'" (256). Mrs. Anderson, their neighbor, says "'Talking to herself so much is rather bad, don't you think?'" (378). Clovis instructs Gertie to tell Cassie to stop. Gertie doesn't think it's right to do so -- "'A body's got to have somethen all their own'" (379) -- but she bends to the wishes of the people around her. She tells Cassie to stop talking to her friend.
Gertie soon changes her mind about banishing the imaginary friend and tries to find Cassie to tell her. Cassie is playing on the railroad tracks. What follows is one of the most well-written scenes of suspense and tragedy I have ever read. The tension builds for what seems like forever as Gertie tries desperately to get to her daughter off the tracks. A plane flying above them is deafening, so Gertie "could only try to send her screams above the airplane that circled ever lower" (404). A high fence stands between Gertie and the tracks, but she cannot get through the tiny hole. She tries to find something to throw to get Cassie's attention. She runs into the street to go around and it she hears trains rushing past. She finally gets to the tracks and finds a horrific scene: Cassie's legs have been severed off at the knees by the train. She's alive, but barely, and dies on the way to the hospital, despite Gertie's pleas to her -- "'Cassie, honey, you can have Callie Lou -- allus an forever you can have Callie Lou'" (409).
This is the only time I've ever cried while reading a book. At the hospital, it only gets worse. Gertie procures the hundreds of dollars she's saved over the years and hands it to Clovis. She thinks she can pay to take Cassie's body with her sooner. Clovis drops some of the money at one point, and a policeman literally steals it from her, right in front of her and with no shame, even though her daughter just got killed by a train (412).
The scene is so important to the book not only because it is crucial to the plot, but also because it symbolizes all of the things that Gertie thought would go wrong when she moved to Detroit. Her inability to reach Cassie represents her increasing separation from her children, both physical and emotional. Her son Reuben had already run away back to Kentucky because he hated Detroit and thought his mother was responsible for the move. Because she can't help Cassie, and also because she feels responsible for her death, Gertie feels weak and ineffectual. It's also fitting that Cassie would be killed by a train, with an airplane above, after Gertie ran into a busy street, with the factory behind the train tracks. Life in an industrial city is literally taking Gertie's children from her.
(There is even more cruel irony when Clovis tries to make Gertie feel better by telling her that, had he known she had had so much money saved up, he would have told her to stay in Kentucky and buy the land she always wanted.)
Gertie: Appalachian Anomaly
Harriette Arnow's novel The Dollmaker is a story about women, about families, about religion and ethnicity, and about poverty -- but most of all it is a story about people. The book follows Gertie Nevels, a native Kentuckian who has lived in the same place her whole life. She takes care of her five children and runs the family farm while her husband, Clovis, looks for work. Really, all she wants in life is to own her own piece of land -- she and Clovis rent a farm from someone else, meaning they have to give half of what they make to the owner. Gertie is intensely smart and practical -- in the very first scene of the book, we witness her cut her son's throat open and fashion a breathing apparatus out of a tree branch when he is sick and desperately needs help breathing on the way to the hospital. Most of what Gertie knows she has learned from experience -- she can tell what time of day it is simply by looking at the sky, she can dig potatoes faster than most other people she knows, and she can tell what kinds of crops will grow in a certain type of soil just by looking at it. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible and some other texts -- "Th Bible's about th only thing I've ever read" besides learning by heart "poetry an th Constitution an a heap a th Bible" (23, 24).
When Clovis leaves for his army examination, we get to see how Gertie stands out among the rest of the women in the area in terms of her independence. In fact, she realizes that "It was as if the war and Henley's death had been a plan to help set her and her children free so that she might live and be beholden to no man, not even to Clovis" (139). Gertie is physically large, standing taller than most women and men she comes across, with a wide frame and big bones. She helps the other women in town whose husbands are also gone: she "...picked up the hundred-pound sack of feed, and tossed it lightly to her shoulder," then said, "'I recken I'll have to be th man in this settlement'" (102).
However, despite the fact that she is so strong in so many ways, she is also so unsure of herself that she often becomes incredibly submissive. When it comes to confrontations with others, Gertie often backs down and chooses to let the other person win the argument. Early in the book, Clovis does not get selected for military service, but moves to Detroit instead to work in a factory. Gertie takes this opportunity to buy a piece of land she has always wanted, but her mother insists she must move to Detroit to support her husband. Gertie's son Reuben protests, saying that she has tried to make a better life for them there in Kentucky, and looks to Gertie for support: "The trouble grew in his eyes, but still he waited, watching Gertie, hopeful, unwilling to believe she would not speak up for their farm. She continued silent. Gradually the hope in his eyes died. His glance, fixed on his mother's face, was filled with the contempt of the strong for the weak" (143).
It was often really hard for me to reconcile the fact that here was this woman who was so self-sufficient and so tough and yet who could not stand up to her mother, her husband, or even young kids who make fun of her. Despite her amazing experiences and worldly knowledge, she is still so sure that she is less important than almost everyone else around her. This is what makes her such an anomaly to me, but also such an interesting and tragic character.
It was often really hard for me to reconcile the fact that here was this woman who was so self-sufficient and so tough and yet who could not stand up to her mother, her husband, or even young kids who make fun of her. Despite her amazing experiences and worldly knowledge, she is still so sure that she is less important than almost everyone else around her. This is what makes her such an anomaly to me, but also such an interesting and tragic character.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)