Oh Atticus...The Subversion of Masculinity in To Kill a Mockingbird

Atticus Finch is an iconic and compelling character in both the literary and cinematic canon thanks to his depiction by Gregory Peck and Harper Lee herself. Atticus is often held up as a new kind of man, an educated, measured lawyer in the old South who finds the courage to quietly stand up in the face of injustice and to end suffering in many ways.

I've always been interested in how much hold Atticus has on the minds and hearts of the many educated people that I know. He is held up as a new symbol of masculinity, especially by the parents I know, some of which have named their children after him. It is certainly clear that Lee's work is masterfully done for most readers end up worshipping, fearing, and loving Atticus just as Scout does. He is a man of some mystery, but of endless love and compassion. It makes so much sense to me after all the gentle talks Scout and her father have that parents would hope their sons could have the same quiet nobility.

(Spoilers follow.)

And yet there's something unbelievably subversive about Atticus too. Despite his encounter with the rabid dog, he abhors guns and violence and values knowledge above all. He takes abuse from Ewell and his supporters on the chin using nonviolence. He is a single father who refuses to remarry, proving that he can be a giving, approachable custodial parent to his children (with help from Calpurnia of course.) It should also probably be noted that this notion of the more educated, less violent Southern male is also highlighted in the character of Boo Radley, who does not match the archetype of the powerful Southern gentleman either, and Jem and Scout's attempts to emulate Southern alpha male behavior before their father shows them the folly of hurting other people to make them think like you.

Views on Narration

There is something very appealing about the beginning of To Kill A Mockingbird. Harper Lee paints such an amazing picture of a small town. Although we are given a fairly static view of whom the main characters are, we also get interesting portraits of other individuals. Everyone within the novel seems to have their own distinct story and it provides a picturesque background of a small southern town. There is also a very charming atmosphere exuded through the eyes of Scout. There is a child like simplicity to her narration and at times I feel that that same simplicity allows us to observe individuals in a clearer light. For example Scout’s description of the Cunningham family on her first day of school is a very interesting view of the class distinctions that were present in Maycomb. Her innocent question of “Are we as poor as the Cunninghams?” (23) to Atticus is a great example of how many children learn about these distinctions. His simple answer is also fairly indicative of how most of the individuals in the town probably feel concerning the present situations of poverty during the depression.

From the scene in the school, and the almost universal knowledge concerning both the Cunninghams and the Ewells, we are easily able to garner that there is a shared consciousness between the individuals of the small town of Maycomb. Even children as old as Scout have a clear picture of the environment around them and the social norms that permeate it. This shared consciousness has a definite effect on the racial tensions that arise later in the novel and we are able to view how in some ways the Finch family is atypical from many of the other individuals in Maycomb. It is their departure from the shared consciousness that highlights its existence so well.

I suppose novels set in small towns are very appealing because the added simplicity allows us to easily discern the motives of various characters. This is a great trait concerning the themes of guilt and innocence that are the center of the plot later in the novel.

To Kill a Mockingbird

I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird when I was in high school and I remember liking it, but I’d forgotten how funny this book is. Scout’s commentary, sometimes befuddled with the confused logic of children her age, is hilarious. I laughed out loud when she suggested to Miss Maudie that Boo Radley might have died and gotten stuffed up a chimney. And when she described having to beat up Dill twice because he reneged on their marriage agreement. I always wondered why Harper Lee chose such a young protagonist to tell such a serious story. Maybe her age disarms the reader in a way, and makes them expect a silly, fun story, that later takes a serious turn. I’m not sure if that is the reason at all, but I can imagine that Scout’s age in this book might be a factor in the attempts at censorship against it. It’s a little jarring to hear her describe her teacher as “that damn lady,” and use words like “son-of-a-bitch” when relating the story of her father’s first clients. This story is, of course, told from the viewpoint of Scout looking back on her childhood, and so a lot of the things that don’t seem relevant to a child’s viewpoint can be explained by this. An example of this is the fact that she describes Boo Radley’s friends as “the nearest thing to a gang ever seen in Maycomb.” If Maycomb has never seen a gang, she obviously would not know what that is, except by being exposed to the idea as an adult. Scout’s precociousness, even as a child, is evident though. The fact that she has been reading for as long as she could remember, and that she and her brother talk to their father almost like equals are examples of this. I think it’s interesting that she calls her father Atticus; I thought this might mean that she and her father are emotional distant, but the conversations they have, and the fact that they spend a lot of time together reading, don’t really support this. I suppose it’s another way for Harper Lee to know that Atticus respects his children as he respects other people and this serves as character development for him.

Mockingbird

The novel To Kill a Mockingbird has had great success as a text. Almost every child that goes through public high school in America reads it as a part of the curriculum. Additionally, the characters have inspired modern Hollywood in very interesting ways. The clothing line Atticus, for example I believe is inspired by the book. The logo, which you can find at this link http://www.atticusclothing.com/store_us/ is the name Atticus with a dead bird on top of the letters. The significance of this is that Atticus Finch has become such a legendary character that the American Film Institute voted him to be the greatest hero in American film (Wikipedia). Atticus is so popular that a clothing line has named itself after the characters.
Even celebrity baby names have been impacted by the novel. Although I cannot find concrete evidence that Scout Willis (Bruce Willis and Demi Moore’s daughter) is named after Atticus’ daughter in the novel. Even the movie adaptation of the novel was well thought of. When Gregory Peck died, the first line of USA Today’s story about his life said, “LOS ANGELES (AP) — Gregory Peck, who embodied saintly fatherhood in To Kill a Mockingbird and played a range of real-life figures from Abraham Lincoln to Josef Mengele, died Thursday at 87.” I find it interesting that the first line of the announcement of his death would include mention of his role related to the very popular novel. Gregory Peck had a long career with many very important roles. It is a testament to the popularity of the novel, and the impact that it has had on everyone who reads it.
Boo Radley has even made it to Urban Dictionary fame. The website that catalogs slang meanings for various words has a full ten entries about this particular name. The most relevant entry being, “Creepy person that has a certain charm to them. Also a stalker. From the book To Kill a Mockingbird,” (urbandictionary.com). Although this may not be the most credible source, it does show that the novel has permeated pop culture. A supporting character’s name has become a term that I have never actually heard used in everyday life, but that has been clearly considered and voted on as an entry in the dictionary.

Southern Belles

I’ve really enjoyed rereading to this novel. I first read it in middle school but am still enjoying it the second time around

Of course, To Kill A Mocking Bird is famous for it’s success in dealing the racial issues and the loss of innocence, but I think that Harper Lee does a lot of interesting things with gender roles as well. She very clearly represents what being a woman meant during the depression in the Deep South. Over the first 100 pages or so, there are so many instances of tension with scout and the idea of “being a lady.”

Whenever Jem and Scout argue, Jem’s response generally is something along the lines of, “you’re becoming more and more like a girl every day.” And we see a motherless Scout, battling with ideas of femininity by using her fists to defend her honor. Even at the holiday party, we see several instances of Scout’s extended family disapproving of Atticus’ parenting choices. Scout receives an air-rifle from Uncle Jack for Christmas, yet, her relatives criticize her for wearing pants and not speaking properly.

I think Harper Lee reveals a lot about gender roles and expectations in south during that time period. It’s interesting to watch Scout’s progression over a course of 2 or so years, especially considering she doesn’t have a mother.

Perspective

I read Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird in high school and remember not understanding why people didn’t like it. I’m not saying that this novel is my favorite, but I didn’t (and still don’t) dislike it. Likes and dislikes aside, I wonder what was the source of discontent. The town of Maycomb seems primarily white and (at least in part one) deals with the struggle of maturity and innocence in an adult world. The fact that the story is told from Scout’s perspective ensures that the reader is introduced to the social issues with the most basic understanding of the underlying principles. I found this perspective to be effective in so much that not only is the reader learning about the town’s affairs with different races, but also about a moral code that isn’t necessarily reflected in every member. Presented as a gentleman, Atticus‘ humbleness lends a certain mystery to his character. For instance, I find that Jem’s discovery of Atticus’ secret talent (a dead shot) both a foreshadowing and theme of the novel. No one is what he/she seems. We can see this in Boo Radley (whom we assume placed the trinkets for the children to find as well as the blanket during the fire) and through Mrs. Dubose via her snide comments and morphine addiction. Even the natural elements are somewhat off; the dog having rabies in February and the snow that fell for the first time in however many years. It says something about the town that they blamed the snow on the behavior of children, especially since Jem and Scout seem to be the only children in the neighborhood. Going through this journey with Scout, I was particularly struck by this one sentence in part one. Just after Scout was whipped by her Uncle after defending her father to Francis, Scout sneaks downstairs and listens to her father and Uncle talk, “But I never figured out how Atticus knew I was listening, and it was not until many years later that I realized he wanted me to hear every word he said” (101). Something about this sentence is so powerful, perhaps because it is the first insight into Scout’s character maturing. It could also be due to the fact that at all other times in the novel she never actually listens to him, this being the first. I don’t remember all of what happens in the end and look forward to reading on.

Censored Skirts?

Here's an interesting case of censorship I ran across today that's currently being taken up at Morehouse College, a very prestigious, all-male historically black college in Atlanta:

http://www.vibe.com/content/mean-girls-morehouse

and a response in Jezebel:
http://jezebel.com/5674560/who-are-the-real-mean-girls-of-morehouse?skyline=true&s=i

What does everyone think? Can a private all male college limit gender expression?

Leaving Giovanni's Room

Though I enjoyed reading Giovanni’s Room, I found that I wasn’t very moved by the supposedly tragic aspects of the ending. Though this could be partly because Giovanni’s fate is revealed so early on in the novel that I was expecting it and had accustomed myself to the idea of it, I think it is more than that. To me, for something to be truly considered tragic, the characters need to be losing something in their downfall, and I didn’t really feel like any of the characters lost anything of great value. I found David and Giovanni’s relationship to be a kind of disturbing one. They meet each other and immediately become involved with one another—clearly they were motivated by little more than lust at the beginning. Even though both characters claimed that they loved the other, to me it seemed to be quite an unhealthy relationship. Giovanni is completely obsessed with David, literally telling him that he would want to die if David ever left him—that’s not healthy. David claims that he loved Giovanni, but what we see of their relationship never really convinces me of that. Even the destruction of David’s relationship with Hella isn’t really something to be mourned (even though in some ways I was more convinced of their mutual affection than I was of David and Giovanni’s): the fact that they seemed to be settling for each other and David’s hidden preference for men would have soured their relationship in time anyway. Considering all these things, while Giovanni’s fate and the end of the novel were certainly sad, I wouldn’t call them tragic, simply because none of these characters had enough of value to lose.

Giovanni's Room

I think it is interesting that Giovanni's Room is so renowned considering the way David appears in the novel. David is a character who is ashamed of who he is and is constantly trying to lie about his life. He is not honest with anyone that is close to him, least of all himself. He is unable to confront the people close to him about his feelings and he refuses to acknowledge his feelings himself. It is sad that he cannot be honest with himself about what he wants out of life, and it is even worse that he drags others down with himself. Therefore, I find it interesting that this novel, with a character who is unable to accept himself, is such an important novel, and that a bookstore has even named itself after this novel.

David is not a character that I would be able to relate to nor would I want to. It is one thing to be confused about who you are and what you want, but it is something else entirely to lie to people and hurt others because you are unable to accept yourself. I understand that in the 1950s it was difficult to be out with your sexuality if it was outside of the ‘norm,’ but David could go about it differently if he did not want to accept how he felt for men. Instead he used Giovanni and then left him hanging, and basically did the same thing to Hella. The fact that David is not only a confused character, but completely unwilling to accept who he is makes him a character not worthy to be looked up to by the gay community. If David was able to accept himself at the end there would be some redemption, but instead he is haunted by his guilt for how he has acted and the consequences.

Homosexuality for Pussies

As I continue to read Giovanni's Room, I am struck by how the discussion of homosexual relationships and intercourse differs so drastically between this novel and The Price of Salt. While Baldwin doesn't shy away from explicitly discussing the mechanics and imagery of the situation --the naked bodies, the passion of the kisses, the sexual desires present within the character -- the prose in The Price of Salt danced around the subject, describing lesbianism in very vague language, more relating to emotion rather than physical desire.

I find this to be the case most often in pop culture depictions of homosexuality. Male homosexuality is often depicted in terms of sex and the physical aspect of desire while lesbianism is assigned a more emotional, intellectual character. Until The L Word, lesbians were very rarely, if ever, discussed in terms of sex. Lesbians were the stereotyped commitment-philes, mythologized to move in on the second date, while gay men became the promiscuous smut-fiends, going into back-rooms of bars to engage in torrid affairs.

I feel this is why The Price of Salt may have been more disputed than Giovanni's Room (though neither was that dramatically censored). Though The Price of Salt treated lesbian sex very vaguely and tastefully, it still broached the subject. Homosexual men have long been associated with this idea.

Audience and Genre

Looking at Giovanni's Room and The Price of Salt as two books that dealt with sexuality in the 50s, it is interesting that Baldwin's book has become a celebrated work of modernism, while Highsmith's text has been largely ignored. I think that several factors have come to effect the respective fates of these books, but I think that genre has the most to do with their reception.

We have already discussed in class that The Price of Salt can be read as a sort of positive response to the lesbian pulp genre that was relatively prevalent in the 1950s. Although Highsmith clearly distances herself from this genre by adding a (modestly) happy ending, it still has elements of pulp fiction and hints at Highsmith's career as a writer of psychological thrillers. Although the book deals with issues of identity, sexuality and coming of age, Highsmith also throws in a private investigator, a cross country road trip, a gun and some car chases. Thus, the novel would have been marketed within the same genre as lesbian pulp rather than as a work of “serious fiction,” intended to be read by a mass audience rather than a scholarly one. The low privilege of the genre almost definitely impacted the novel's readership and legacy, forcing it to remain a lesbian cult classic rather than a widely read or taught novel.

Baldwin's novel, on the other hand, is clearly in the tradition of serious, modernist literature. To begin with, Baldwin wrote the book on a Guggenheim fellowship, a clear indication that he was writing Literature with a capital L. The tone and style of the novel falls into the tradition of Modernism, from the experimental time sequence of the novel to the existential themes explored by David. His association with Richard Wright and the publication of articles in high prestige journals like The Nation and Partisan Review also positioned him as a serious writer for readers and reviewers. Clearly, his name had weight within the literary community by the time Giovanni's Room was published.

Finally, by using a pseudonym on her novel, Highsmith cut her novel off from the rest of her works. Threatened by the content of the novel, she had to protect her reputation as a writer and effectively disowned the novel. Thus, The Price of Salt never got the attention that the rest of her books have received as she became a respected writer. It was doomed to remain outside the canon until it was republished under her name in the 90s.

I'm a man! I'm 40!

In a famous rant (seen here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aoMmbUmKN0E ), Oklahoma State football coach Mike Gundy declared, "I'm a man! I'm 40!" The reason behind Gundy's explosion at the media was that he believed the local newspaper had printed things about one of his players that weren't true. After calling the newspaper 'garbage', and saying that it was wrong to attack an amateur athlete who is doing everything right (going to class, being respectful to the media), Gundy then told them to come after him as opposed to one of his players. The premise behind his argument was that Gundy can handle the responsibility, that he can handle the criticism, and that's part of what makes him a man.

I brought this up because while coach Gundy has conviction in what makes a man, David in Giovanni's Room has no idea. For Gundy, standing up for his younger players, defending them when they're wronged, and taking responsibility is part of what makes him a man. But David seems to have this twisted, confused idea of what a man is, and/or what he should do. While it's not manly to sleep with other men, it somehow is manly to physically bully that same guy, Joey, later. I think most of us understand that putting someone down doesn't build you up, and very few of us actually believe that pushing other people around makes you a man. While it is manly to get married to a woman, he doesn't have the sand to tell her that his feelings lie elsewhere. Allowing a partner to believe you are in love with them when you are not, and not telling them the truth because you don't have the courage to, is definitely not a characteristic of a man. Both of these instances of contradiction reveal David's cowardice and immaturity. While David may be old enough to live in a foreign country, he is certainly not a man. And so it is just that at the end of the book, David is racked with guilt over what has happened, because his own immaturity contributed toward the tragic result. David is a boy, not a man. He's not even 40.

Tragic Giovani

Initially I was confused by the jumping forward and backward in time--I made myself do a double take to be sure I hadn't missed a letter in someone's name and they were in fact two different people. After I did figure out that Giovani was a constant character, and that the one we meet is fated to die, I became absolutely transfixed with his character. By alerting us of his fate early one, Baldwin creates this morbid obsession for readers to fondle; I was constantly trying to dig deeper into everything Giovani said and did, changing my conception of him multiple times. This made me wonder how my fascination with Giovani might have differed had I not known his fate. His intensity might have fallen into the background, or the details of his life might have been harder to remember.

One important contribution made by mentioning Giovani's death is a reference to the extent of David and Giovani's relationship. When we first meet Giovani, and for much of David's interactions later, his significance to the story is hesitant. At any moment we could be pulled away and told a story of David's coming of age/self-realization. By knowing a longer relationship occurred, we are more invested in Giovani's earlier actions.

Mono No Aware, or the Transcience of Giovanni

Baldwin presents the reader with a very interesting conundrum in Giovanni's Room. The novel jumps forward and backward in time, and we are told early in the novel that the title character dies. As a result of this, Giovanni becomes a kind of ephemeral, tragic figure. This reminds me of the Japanese concept of Mono No Aware, or a sympathy for transient things, a value of the beauty of the fleeting. In a lot of ways, Giovanni is othered from the other queer characters. His history in Italy is exotic and tragic. Even without the foretold execution, he almost seems doomed. David and Giovanni's time together is presented as beautiful partly because it has an end. Eventually David has to address the Hella problem. Eventually Giovanni has to die. The sense of doom is overt, unlike in The Price of Salt where Highsmith plays with your instincts. "This has to go wrong somewhere," you think. I can't help but compare Giovanni's Room to E.M. Forster's Maurice, another frank depiction of male homosexuality. Maurice ends happily, despite all odds, and wasn't published in Forster's lifetime (possibly for that reason.) I'm not even close to the model yet, but I hope that Giovanni becomes a little bit less poeticized.

the fate of Giovanni

I am surprised so far by Giovanni’s Room and the somewhat odd contextual format. It is a jumble of David’s memories of life in New York and in Paris, yet we learn before even meeting Giovanni that he is dead. This is always a shocking turn of events in a narrative to me because if we as the reader are not to be kept in suspense as to what happens to a seemingly main character we must obviously need to be concentrating on other things. Just as in Romeo and Juliet where we learn the fate of our “star-crossed lovers” before the play begins to happen we clearly then need to concentrate on how they characters reach their fate, which is what I think we as readers need to do with Giovanni. There is a technique and even a sort of literary angle to revealing so much about a character before we get to know them. Does this technique keep us from becoming attached to such a character or does it make us want to find an attachment to him or her even more? Is it a curiosity aspect that makes us examine more closely what the “dead” character says and does more than characters where we do not know their fate beforehand? Does it make us pay attention to who the character really is even more if we know a crucial aspect before getting to know them? I have always wondered about this approach to introducing a character and want to see how exactly my view of Giovanni will be different.

Thoughts on Part One

This is my first time reading Baldwin, but I do have to say that so far I am impressed with his depiction of the main character David. Although I have only read Part One of Giovanni’s Room I have noticed that David, who has many faults, is not someone who elicits any sort of strained emotion. Unlike characters in most novels who the reader may love or hate I find myself being completely undecided towards David. The reason for this was difficult for me to pin down but I’ve decided that it may be because Baldwin himself holds no overt feeling for his character. He writes him as an individual with individual experiences and feelings, and neither condemns nor condones him.

In many ways I believe that Baldwin has created a narrator who is extremely trustworthy. Throughout Part One of the novel we witness David do things that he has feelings towards, but it always seems as if these actions are just a product of individuality. Simply put Baldwin has shaped a character in a story that is apart from the story itself. I find myself unable to associate him with other people because it feels as if he is whole without outside influence. Baldwin has created an amazingly tangible individual in what is an inherently intangible setting in a novel.

However I cannot say that I like David. He seems to be quite selfish in his views of others. For instance he never truly gives a legitimate reason for hating his father, who seems to be pretty accommodating. His reaction to his night with Joey is also troubling. The fact that he decided to hide his homosexuality from himself through completely disregarding, and later bullying Joey does not sit well with me. That sort of transference of emotion can be very annoying. His attitude towards his girlfriend is also strange. I cannot really tell if he loves her or not. Then again it seems David is having a similar problem in that he doesn’t know if she loves him.

I suppose the reason why I dislike Davis so much is because Baldwin did indeed write a character that it is easy to connect with.

Giovanni's Room

The setting of Baldwin’s Giovanni’s Room is very important to the development of the novel. Primarily taking place in 1950s Paris, this novel has an almost archaic ‘circus feel.’ The bar in the seemingly underbelly of the Paris working class contains characters who call themselves ‘she’ (pg. 27). The talk of the bar seems to be a very close-knit group, to whom outsiders are unwelcome. Only by pretending to be one of them can David interlace himself in their company. Like a circus these types of people are a family. Continuing with the circus like feel of the novel, the novel’s structure adheres to this principle as well. The timeline in which David tells his story fluctuates from present to past and never quite settles. The reader knows via David that Giovanni is set to be hung in the morning, inciting him to recount the events that led up to Giovanni’s demise. While recounting these events, David seems to relive them, thus confusing the timeline even more as he visits Giovanni’s room who has supposedly already parted from this world. I wonder if the fact that David is drinking in the beginning has anything to do with this obscure timeline. Furthermore, the people in David’s life seem to blur together. When David talks about marrying Hella (does her name have anything to do with the way he feels/may feel about women i.e. hell), he all of the sudden introduces Giovanni. This would not be such a hard thing to understand, except for the fact that Giovanni (as we eventually find out is a man). It’s not the relationship that left me confused, but rather the way it was introduced. It’s almost as if David is afraid in writing this to admit he was with another man. All this despite his earlier introduction of Joey whom he admits to having a one night stand. Even these events are a little muddled; one gathers that this event is a precursor to Giovanni, but is unsure. I believe the circus like people and timeline are a reflection of how David ultimately comes to see his own life. At certain points he tries to resist what every one around him already knows - he likes men. However, as he has already joined the circus (albeit pretend), he has come to realize that he is truly one of them. My one question in regards to the setting, is whether or not the American public would be more willing to accept/teach this novel and its gay theme as the novel takes place in a different time and place (for exp. as opposed to Catcher in the Rye which took place in NY). Does the foreign setting allow people to distance themselves?

Giovanni's Room

I enjoyed reading the first half of this novel. I had not read it before.

I think James Baldwin did a very interesting job playing with the ideas of gender roles and the frustrations David feels when exploring his homosexuality. I thought the role of David's father was particularly insightful. David is constantly struggling to live up to "becoming a man" as his father has requested, even though he has no true grasp on what that means. David constantly struggles with his inability to sleep with women, and therefore demonstrate his manliness, just as his father did after the death of his mother.

Not only does David have to come to terms with his sexual orientation, which he explains to Giovanni as illegal at home, but he also has to cope with gender issues that have been extremely complicated by his father. His personal struggle becomes more tragic and intense. The flashbacks to his childhood experiences, like his drunken car crash and Ellen's concern over his upbringing, further illuminate the depth of his personal struggles.

I am excited to see what happens in the second half of the novel. Especially with Hella's return to Paris. I'm curious to see how Baldwin will continue to develop David's personal progress with the presence of his fiance.

The Price of Salt and Giovanni's Room

The novel, Giovannia’s Room is already very different from The Price of Salt. The themes of homosexuality are much more at the forefront of the novel, making it clear what this will be about. David’s life struggles and confusion is much like Terry’s. Both characters are not sure what type of life they want to lead, and we enter their worlds at a time when they are figuring it out. It is quite interesting to see such different representations of people finding themselves and understanding their own perceptions of sexuality throughout texts.
David is very up front with the reader about his confusion. At this point in the novel, David has given us a lot of his back-story and discussed his family life. The major difference between Terry and David is this family life. David’s mother died when he was young and his father is attempting to be “buddies” with David. Terry’s family is out of the picture and she seems fine to keep it that way. I think the distinction between Terry and David at this point is that David’s father can act as his safety net. Terry did not have family to rely on, she was able to escape and not look back. David has his father to answer to, and this creates a sense that David has someone who he needs to impress. As he makes clear in the beginning of the novel, David is very concerned with being manly and having others perceive him this way. As his father says early on in the text, “’…all I want for David is that he grow up to be a man,’” (15). It is clear that David has received this message from his father, as most of his thoughts are preoccupied with how he will achieve this level of manliness. He even talks about bullying Joey, which clearly distances him from the true feelings he has for Joey. The way he treats Joey further shows his confusion about his sexuality. He can’t be honest with himself or anyone else about his first encounter with a man. The novel is interesting when compared to The Price of Salt, and a lot can be learned from looking at the novels together.

Violent Uncles and Tool Sheds

I have said it before.

I generally disagree with the pussification of America's youth. All of this " don't use red pen on homework assignments because it will have a negative impact on their delicate minds" stuff really gets to me.

Young adults tend to develop anxiety disorders and depression between the ages 18 and 24. Why? Because they have to deal with the real world which is harsh and cruel and unpredictable and they haven't been raised to know how to deal with that. If we could stop coddling children maybe they would have a decent shot at making it in the real world without the idea that every criticism they receive will be written in a calming color of ink.

How does this relate to Price of Salt? Lesbians exist whether we let children read about them or not. If you try to shelter your children from such ideas while they are in school by banning the book, the result is rather predictable. They will grow up. They will meet lesbians. They may even have to work with them. So how does that person know how to cope? They don't. So they engage in interactions based on ignorance.

Do you want to have an ignorant interaction with anyone? Neither do I.

Now do I think this book has enough literary merit to be taught in a curriculum? God no. But I don't see how it benefits anyone to go out of your way to keep it out of the hands of children.

We can't keep these things from them, all the cruel or rough parts of life, cause sooner or later they have to deal with them.

The love that dare not speak its name

The end of The Price of Salt presents the reader with an optimistic view of lesbian relationships in the 1950s, albeit a limited one. Carol and Therese manage to become free from patriarchal bondage and set up a life for themselves through hard work and love. Carol does not have custody of her child, but she does have a new direction in life, a job, freedom and a lover in an apartment that really belongs to her. However, Highsmith shows the limitations of Carol and Therese's freedom by locating it entirely within the private realm of the home rather than making it a communal or public freedom.
Of course, we do not have access to the “happily ever after” of the story—that extends beyond the romance that we are given. We get the idea that Therese will live with Carol in her Manhattan apartment in domestic bliss, while they both attempt to further their respective careers. No where in the text does Highsmith indicate that either of the women identify as lesbians, nor that they want anything beyond the love that this domestic situation gives them. Therese is portrayed as obsessively in love with Carol, regardless of gender. Although we receive hints that Abbey identifies as a lesbian and has a group of queer friends (all of the suspicious talk about “Abbey's friends” and the party that she invites Therese to), Abbey is cut out of their relationship at the end. Prior to the gay liberation movement in the late 60s and early 70s, there were communities of lesbians and gay men that formed a community together. Highsmith does not position either heroine within this sort of community, though. Instead, the novel presents the reader with a lucky happenstance, whereby two women meet, fall in love and live happily ever after. Their relationship is pushed into the private realm of the hotel room and the apartment. Even Therese's flirtation with Genevieve must continue in the “inner circle party” rather than in the more public cocktail party. The novel does present a positive romance between lesbians, but in many ways, it remains totally private. Of course, it would have been nearly impossible to portray a lesbian community in a published book in the 1950s. In many ways, the novel does not speak to a larger community or an identity. Instead, Carol and Therese's relationship remains the love that dare not speak its name.

Price of Salt

While the action certainly did pick up towards the end, I didn’t end up enjoying the book too much. I still couldn’t get over the forced awkwardness that filled up each of the pages. I remember mentioning in class that I thought the awkwardness was added to prove what true love could do, transforming their relationship into a smooth one but this wasn’t really the case until just before the end.

The detective was an interesting addition. The sheer fact that in this period lesbianism would be the main argument against custody is interesting, and no matter how progressive we have become today, you might wonder how much has changed.

Finally, after completing the book I don’t believe the Price of Salt is the right choice for the cannon—simply because I’m not sure it’s very well written. I absolutely agree some novel in this genre should be included, but I am not familiar with any other choices to make a suggestion. I think this book brings up crucial themes that needed to be considered more thoroughly in our minds. Issues of love, confusion, gay identity and a young woman’s voice and life. While her problems may not be grave, I think it is important to add a book to our repertoire that looks at issues or love and lack of sexual desire. A book such as this offers a lot of new information, but again, I don’t believe this particular story is the choice.

The Price of Salt

With the end of Highsmith's book the main thing on my mind was "God, Therese is still annoying." As the novel slowly developed, I had expected Therese to make some grandiose changes - or at least grow up a little. With their trip out west, readers see Carol change more. She opens up more about her life to Therese and undergoes a huge challenge in her life. I don't see much development at all in Therese.

What has troubled me the entire novel is that I don't understand what either woman sees in the other in that relationship. Therese is always second guessing what she says or does whenever she's with Carol. In the conversations that Highsmith writes Carol usually says something that points out Therese's naivety or lack of understanding. At least Carol has someone to dote on her all the time - which I guess would be a reason to stay. But honestly, I have no idea what Therese is doing. Maybe the reason that she feels so strongly for Carol is because it's her first real lesbian fling and she finally get's a chance to act on emotions that she had previously hidden. The one time where I felt that Therese was truly valuable to Carol (besides just adoring her) was when she spotted the investigator and was cognizant that she had seen him before. This was a crucial detail to notice and was extremely important.

Carol's indifferent (at times) attitude toward Therese soon transferred over to Rindy where Carol claims that she really didn't care if she saw her. At least Carol is consistent - but her attitude is so upsetting. Rindy was the one thing that made her happy and that she looked forward to constantly. With that element fading out of her life (I guess Therese replaced Rindy that way) I can't grasp who Carol is as an individual.

Indifferent to Sacrifices

I found the ending of the novel strange. While I appreciate Highsmith's intention for a happy ending, it didn't much feel happy, or even really like an ending. For Carol, the end of the book signifies a grand new chapter in her life, presumably with Therese and without her child. And while Therese's perspective is similar, the change her life is going through feels much less significant. Since Therese is growing up through the whole book, much of what we see in her character is about change. Yet most of the changes I would attribute more to self discovery, whereas the changes we see in Carol focus on sacrifices. Therese gives up comparatively less than Carol, especially considering how miserable she was before hand.

For us to truly judge whether this a happy ending, I feel like I need to better understand Carol, especially in regards to her feelings and intentions for her family. I find it incredibly hard to believe that she would truly let go of her daughter, and I think her future decisions around the matter would play a huge roll in the Carol-Therese relationship. I would imagine Carol's emotions could become taxing on Therese, and I wonder if this would emphasize the age difference, or more importantly the stage of life difference, between the two. Much like Carol deserted her family, Therese could easily desert Carol.

A Bildungsroman but at what cost?

In class we talked a bit about the lack of happy endings in gay and lesbian literature and drama, how stories about gay characters often get reduced to being about the tragedy of being gay and nothing else, skating over the joy, pride, and acceptance that such relationships can bring. Surprisingly, in many ways, The Price of Salt subverts this trend for both lesbian pulp novels and gay and lesbian literature. Carol and Therese end up together, with an actual chance at being happy. Therese grows up significantly, even finding a kind of independence when she returns to New York before reuniting with the woman of her dreams. Carol escapes her husband and the life she hated, eventually ending up with Therese. But at what cost?

Regardless of Carol's feelings about her husband, the position that Highsmith puts her character in is authentic but also torturous, and it makes the book's "happy" ending ring a bit false. Carol is forced to choose between her lover and her daughter and ends up choosing the lover. Losing Rindy is extremely hard for Carol, and whether Therese wants to acknowledge it or not, the choice Carol was forced to make will be the specter that hovers over their lives. Unlike the typical romantic comedy, a victim remains a victim. Rindy doesn't receive a happy ending. Her childhood, the loss of her mother, is the cost of Therese and Carol's happiness, the Price of Salt.

The "Price" for Carol and Therese

After just finishing The Price of Salt I am very shocked by the ending, and the events leading up to the ending. I was very happy at the way Highsmith presented Therese to us in the last twenty pages or so of the novel. Therese becomes the stronger, more self-sufficient person in the relationship. She is more open and honest with herself and an overall stronger person. The roles are reversed between Therese and Carol during their last, or what we are lead to believe is their last encounter. It is Carol who is the lonely, longing lover and offers Therese all she has ever wanted. It is Carol who has to start anew, taking a job and moving to a new home. Therese has been building her own new life since leaving the department store. With each new job she is offered she becomes more confident in her work. It is a change in Therese commented on by both Carol and Danny. It seems to me that Therese realizes she has found herself with her work, but she also realizes after she thinks she has lost Carol that she can still survive, which adds to her new found confidence. Carol, on the other hand takes the loss of Therese, the loss of Rindy, and the changes of setting and job as actions that make her a weaker and less confident person. I like that we are presented initially with two very different characters in Therese and Carol and they seem to turn into each other. They keep many of their own qualities, yet feed off the qualities they admire in each other and become each other’s ideal person.
Finally, we see Therese realize the person she has become and the person Carol has become should be together. It’s as if Therese, after initially being offered a home with Carol, refuses out of protection to the new person she has become to allow herself to go back to the life she had with Carol. After Therese realizes, however, that she can still be the person she has become and be happy with Carol does she agree to lead a new life as her new self with Carol. I think this is the best possible outcome for these characters. They find themselves and each other.

salt.

"She felt shy with him, yet somehow close, a closeness charged with something she had never felt with Richard. Something suspenseful, that she enjoyed. A little salt, she thought (268)."
It's not till Carol breaks up with Terry that Terry's all-consuming obsession ends, and she seems to come in to her own. It's almost surprising really, how well Terry is able to pick herself up, start her own life, inspired by a piece of music. But perhaps most exciting for me was to finally find a reference to salt, something solid to explain a title that could only otherwise be viscerally understood. Salt is the sexual chemistry that charges situations like the one with Danny. It's something gritty and tasty. Our bodies sweat it, but it burns like hell in an open wound. It's essential. People used to be paid in it. Its at the opposite end of the spectrum from the otherwise opulent trappings that Terry and Carol lavish on themselves. Perhaps that kind of salt comes at a higher price than party dresses, purses and Remy Martin. I would argue that it can't be bought; it's priceless.
But rather than taking her encounter with Danny as some flirtation or contradiction, I would go on to argue that it's a great turning point in Terry's character.
It’s the first time she understands herself as attractive, and what attracts her to others.
She knows exactly what the actress has on her mind when she gets invited to the champagne after-party. And although I think Patricia Highsmith and I might have gone upstairs to find a little salt there (I would turn down champagne only for true love), it is a nice surprise that Terry goes to find Carol, and that we are to assume they live happily ever after.

Therese's indecisiveness

In reading the last half of The Price of Salt, I finally have sympathy with everyone who was complaining earlier about Therese’s indecisiveness and confusing lack of direction. Near the beginning of the book, I’d chalked it up to the fact that we didn’t know Therese well enough yet and that maybe her dazed voice and behavior were symbolic of the detachment she felt in her relationship with Richard. But the latter half of the book is filled with similar floundering on Therese’s part and is even more frustrating because I thought she would be much surer of herself and her decisions now that she is with Carol. A scene in Omaha, when Carol left Therese in a hotel room so she could write a letter to her lawyer explaining her situation had Therese looking out a window restlessly: “She opened the window and looked down. It was the seventh or eighth floor, she couldn’t remember which. A streetcar crawled past the front of the hotel, and people on the sidewalk moved in every direction, with legs on either side of them, and it crossed her mind to jump.” It’s baffling—where did this urge to jump even come from? She has come so far and is with the woman she loves—what on earth could be going through her mind that would bring on this train of thought? That line is never explained or expounded on. Therese’s later agony in the library is similarly confusing. It’s true that Carol’s letter telling her they can’t see each other was upsetting, but her brief phone call with Carol definitely had a different tone, with Carol wanting her to come home as soon as possible so they could talk freely. Rather than focus on this, Therese expands Carol’s actions into a big, dramatic betrayal. I view her breakdown over the picture in the library as a pretty good representation of the way Therese’s actions and thoughts sometimes don’t make any sense. I’m glad at any rate that Therese and Carol end up together at the end. When Therese refused Carol’s offer of moving in with her (after pining for her for about 200 pages), I was pretty much ready to give up on the book, and on Therese, entirely. Luckily, even with all her naivete and confusion, she made the right decision in the end.

Happy Ending?

Patricia Highsmith writes in her afterword that she believed the appeal of her novel was because it had a happy ending, since the two characters were going to try and live together (292). It’s true that the story doesn’t end in complete tragedy, but as I read this I was trying to figure out just how happy the ending really is. The novel, on a surface level, ends on an optimistic note. Therese sees Carol across the room, who waves a “quick, eager greeting,” and Therese walks towards her and the possibility of having a life and lots of time together.
However, Carol has lost her ability to see Rindy, which was one of the major conflicts of the story. It seems almost unfair and superficial to trivialize this outcome for the sake of the love story when it was the cause of so much stress and conflict. Rindy was the reason that Carol returned from the trip in the first place, but when Carol is discussing the situation with Terry after her return she says “You know, I’d almost prefer not to see Rindy at all anymore. I’m never going to demand to see her…” (278). This overly casual response seems out of character, and I had trouble believing Carol’s declaration that “It’s all over.” I still felt some underlying, unresolved conflict that dampened the idea of a happy ending.
Also, there is definitely a change in the relationship between Carol and Terry. Although the end spins this into the bright ideas of new possibilities, there is still the fact that the blissful state we saw in Therese might be gone forever and impossible to achieve again. Therese claims to have had such an experience since leaving Carol, even saying “she had been born since she left Carol” (275). This difference is shown even in her appearance. The novel suggests that Terry’s time away was necessary to cement her identity and for her to be able to continue her relationship with Carol. Still, I read this change as a possible problem or stumble towards a happy ending. Maybe the end is more of a cliffhanger than even Highsmith herself admits.

Similarities

Something that troubled me throughout The Price of Salt was the odd relationship between Carol and Therese. It had a really strange authoritative/maternal quality to it for most of the novel. I always felt that Carol would always talked down to Therese almost as if she was an instructor of some sort. I suppose this is why it made their love so unbelievable to me.

On my previous blog post concerning this book I talked about how Therese was continuously ambivalent about certain aspects concerning her life. However, this facet about here did indeed change while on the road. Whatever indecision or ambiguity that surrounded her feelings was quickly dispelled and it became very clear that Therese loved Carol. Why she loved Carol is where my confusion lies. I suppose it is because I see some similarities between Richard and Carol. Richard seemed to be always attempting to force things on Therese, like marriage, Europe, and his family. Therese was consistently resisting too. I understand that her sexuality may have prevented her from loving Richard in the way that he wanted, but she never even seemed to like Richard. His desire to force things on her was probably the reason. So why then was Carol so important to Therese? Carol seemed to do the same thing as Richard. Her authoritative quality was everywhere. She attempted to change Therese’s clothes, her personality, and consistently talked to Therese as if she was a child. In my opinion, Richard treated her better than this, but with Carol Therese followed her like a dog on a leash.

The reason for Therese’s devotion to Carol could simply be that this was her first real relationship. Her previous relationships were all with men whom she never really liked or connected to. After meeting Carol she finally had someone in her life that she could identify with. Even if she was only able to identify with her slightly this was more than what she experienced with any of her previous boyfriends. This could explain why she was able to ignore all of things about Carol that she hated in Richard.