tBlog - Taboo Monkey Blue Blog: Writing on Writing

Taboo's Meditation: Margaret Atwood, Happy Endings

Taboo's critical literary discussions about Ernest Hemingway, Hermann Hesse, T.S. Eliot, Flannery O'Connor, Franz Kafka, and many other authors. Links to full story texts and critical discussions.


Blog For Free!


Archives
Home
2008 June
2007 April
2007 March
2007 February
2007 January
2006 December
2006 October
2006 July
2006 June
2006 May
2006 April
2006 March
2006 February
2006 January
2005 November
2005 October
2005 February
2005 January
2004 December

My Links
Home
TaBoo's Ezine Navigator
The Greatest Maze
Sudoku Tips and Tricks
Joe User
The Phallic Suggestion

tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images


Sponsored
Blog



Taboo's Meditation: Margaret Atwood, Happy Endings
01.30.06 (11:33 am)   [edit]

Margaret AtwoodTaboo's Meditations on "Happy Endings" by Margaret Atwood.
Good Bones and Simple Murders, by Margaret Atwood


After writing "Do You Know a Way When You See One?" I received several comments in response to my meditations on Ernest Hemingway's suicide that went as follows: Cut him some slack; Everyone dies so don't let the manner of his death distract you from his life.

I could meditate for hours on why I love the writings of Ernest Hemingway--in this sense of respecting a man's life rather than dwelling on his death, my passion for his fiction leads inevitably to a fault of my own. I find truth and justice everywhere in Hemingway's stories, and I tend not to consider the end result of his vision.


But there is the end result. Hemingway dies--not only does he die, but he kills himself. Does his suicide affect the value, or the meaning of The Old Man and the Sea, of "Big Two-Hearted River," of "Hills Like White Elephants," or A Moveable Feast? For myself, the value remains, but the meaning cannot stay the same.

In "Happy Endings," Margaret Atwood outlines several scenarios for two characters, John and Mary. "John and Mary meet," Atwood writes. "What happens next?" ("Happy Endings").

She suggests the following for those writers who enjoy happy endings:

SCENARIO (A): "JOHN AND MARY fall in love and get married. They both have worthwhile and remunerative jobs which they find stimulating and challenging. They buy a charming house. Real estate values go up. Eventually, when they can afford live-in help, they have two children, to whom they are devoted. The children turn out well. John and Mary have a stimulating and challenging sex life and worthwhile friends. They go on fun vacations together. They retire. They both have hobbies which they find stimulating and challenging. Eventually they die. This is the end of the story" ("Happy Endings").

Not everyone likes a simple story, however. Here's a summary of her second suggestion:

SCENARIO (B): "MARY FALLS IN LOVE WITH JOHN but John doesn't fall in love with Mary. He merely uses her body for selfish pleasure and ego gratification of a tepid kind. He comes to her apartment twice a week and she cooks him dinner, you'll notice that he doesn't even consider her worth the price of a dinner out, and after he's eaten dinner he fucks her and after that he falls asleep, while she does the dishes so he won't think she's untidy [. . .]

Her friends tell her they've seen him in a restaurant with another woman, whose name is Madge. It's not even Madge that finally gets to Mary: it's the restaurant. John has never taken Mary to a restaurant . . . Mary collects all the sleeping pills and aspirins she can find, and takes them and a half a bottle of sherry. You can see what kind of a woman she is by the fact that it's not even whiskey. She leaves a note for John. She hopes he'll discover her and get her to the hospital in time and repent and then they can get married, but this fails to happen and she dies. John marries Madge and everything continues as in (A)" ("Happy Endings").

IN SCENARIO (C) John is married to Madge and together they have two kids, but falls in love with the 22 year old Mary, who sleeps with him out of pity. Mary isn't impressed at all with John; she has a thing for James, because he smokes killer doobie and rides a beast of a motorcycle. John walks in on Mary and James one day, and shoots them dead, and then kills himself. "After a suitable period of mourning," Madge marries the understanding Fred, and then proceeds exactly as in (A) "but under different names" ("Happy Endings").

SCENARIO (D): "Fred and Madge have no problems. They get along exceptionally well and are good at working out any little difficulties that may arise. But their charming house is by the seashore and one day a giant tidal wave approaches. Real estate values go down. The rest of the story is about what caused the tidal wave and how they escape from it. They do, though thousands drown, but Fred and Madge are virtuous and grateful, and continue as in (A)" ("Happy Endings").

However:

SCENARIO (E): "Yes, but Fred has a bad heart. The rest of the story is about how kind and understanding they both are until Fred dies. Then Madge devotes herself to charity work until the end of (A). If you like, it can be 'Madge,' 'cancer,' 'guilty and confused,' and 'bird watching'" ("Happy Endings").

Her point is, of course, that every story ends the same way:

"YOU'LL HAVE TO FACE IT, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.

The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.

So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with.

That's about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.

Now try How and Why"

("Happy Endings," from Good Bones and Simple Murders, by Margaret Atwood.)

If all endings are the same, and if all betweens (however fantastic, terrible, or beautiful) inevitably, through cause and effect, lead to the same conclusion, then perhaps Hemingway's suicide was only an ending, and not a cause for reflection. Likewise, if Atwood's understanding of endings and death is accurate, then every aspect of living must reflect, or anticipate, death.

Is there another perspective? Perhaps. One typical response is the religious response, referring in various ways to eternal life. One literary response, Tolstoy's, describes the religious response, that every ending, every moment of dying, contains the potential for transcending the imminence of death. Another literary response, Magical Realism, suggests that the reality of death cannot by eliminated, and yet belief controls the Truth of death's event.

With the possible exception of the Magical Realism, none of these refute Atwood's conclusion (or Hemingway's). But consider: if cause and effect construct the totality of Truth, then the manner in which one lives leads to a specific, unique ending. If, instead, cause and effect are outcomes of our deepest beliefs, then also must look to the way we live, the way we are living, to understand how we want to meet our end.

Hemingway believed that one true thing leads to another, and if you demand the passage of only true things, then in the end, you will have lived a true life.

He killed himself, though.

It matters. Killing himself suggests the meaning of his writing, and therefore reflects on the reasons why I love his stories. We cannot ignore the truth here, regardless of whether or not we all die. What is the value of Hemingway's stories? Knowing the manner of his death, what do these stories mean?

Taboo's Ezine Navigator: Article Index
Taboo Tenente: A Thinker's MFA Journey
Copyright ©2004, ©2005, ©2006 Joshua Suchman. All rights reserved.

 


posted by: surrogate (reply)
post date: 01.30.06 (7:05 am)

"Killing himself suggests the meaning of his writing, and therefore reflects on the reasons why I love his stories."

I'm still not sure why. Spell it out for us dummies. (Me.)



posted by: TaBooTenente (reply)
post date: 01.30.06 (2:22 pm)

i'm sorry--i have a tendency to be vague, huh?

i was thinking something like this:

if a guy spends his life writing about friendships between humans and elephants, and you don't know anything else about him, you might begin to think this author has some affection for elephants. but if you learn later that he spends his weekends blowing them a way with a bazooka just for the hell of it, you're going to have to go back and wonder why he's spending his time writing about friendships with elephants.

if a guy spends his life writing about characters who must deal with the fact that they have no reason to live but they go on living anyway because that's what people need to do, you might suspect that he believes in a moral code that places stoic, hopeless courage near the top.

and if you admire that courage, and if some of the justice and truth of that perspective resonates and rings true for you, then you might learn to see your own life in a new light.

but then the guy kills himself. so you must return to the stories, re-read them, having learned a bit about what it means to believe in that sort of hopelessness.

when you do that, you understand now what you previously had not.

so what i'm really saying is that our knowing that he killed himself has to affect our understanding of his stories.

taboo




posted by: surrogate (reply)
post date: 01.30.06 (7:12 pm)

Well... I'd agree with that more if it wasn't for the fact that what is written is written at a specific time in a life, and once published (or not, for that matter) it can't mean any more about the author than who and what he/she was at the time of the writing. As life changes (for the author), and the world grinds us, we change too. For a while, perhaps we become more polished, or smoother... but eventually, depending the grit and the pressure, most all of us are just plain worn down. What we'd write would then be different, and how how we live would be different as well, but it doesn't change the meaning of earlier work in the least, does it?... It seems backwards. After all, we don't have a single cell in our bodies that even existed five years ago. How can what we've become change what we thought, knew and wrote twenty years ago or thirty, or fifty?

I'm not trying to ignore your point... and I see the irony and contradiction, but... But what? I get the sense you've found a puzzle piece under the bed of a rented room and are trying to envision the whole picture from that single piece.



posted by: TaBooTenente (reply)
post date: 01.31.06 (4:54 am)

surrogate,

i made a long blathering response as usual, but i felt bad about it, for some reason. i guess your comment really made me sit back (stand up, actually) and think about what i'm trying to say, and why.

i wanted to blather about borges' idea of context, and the embarrassment i feel when i think of ts eliot's poem "love song of j. alfred prufrock," and about why i think all of our actions throughout a lifetime can be traced to any other moment, even our deaths.

but i'll save it for a later post. that blather is only part of what i had to think about when reading your response.

here's the part of your response that made me meditate on who i am, and what i really meant when i'm writing about hemingway.

You wrote:

"What is written is written at a specific time in a life, and once published (or not, for that matter) it can't mean any more about the author than who and what he/she was at the time of the writing [...] Eventually, depending [on] the grit and the pressure, most all of us are just plain worn down. What we'd write would then be different, and how we live would be different as well, but it doesn't change the meaning of earlier work in the least, does it?"

it is a strange thing: i very much believe that we fundamentally change from instant to instant. our beliefs change, our energy changes depending on who we are with, the people we love. and like you said, our bodies get tired. that changes us.

a blogger here, daniel macdonald, i think, wrote a piece about andy warhol, which got me thinking about the selfless, soul-less truth of his art. it is powerful stuff, and that is enough to make me respect and value his art.

but i don't buy it. truth isn't soul-less or selfless. truth isn't just the relationship between the "things out there."

truth is (i'm thinking, not demanding--maybe not even arguing) instant relationship between "things out there" and the individual. if we change throughout our lives, it is because we live, we move around, we respond to everything.

i believe that the things that happen to us aren't just random events on a string of chance. we make things happen, even if we don't know how.

so yes, i agree with you: what is written in one place at one time reflects what exists inside and outside the author at the time and place of the writing. the actions and happenings of the author's life after that writing do not change the original meaning, do not change the author of that time and place.

BUT we understand both the author and the writing much more thoroughly, looking back. hemingway looks inside himself and writes "isn't it pretty to think so?" and he means it with all the truth and bottled-up pain and dealing with despair that he sees when he wrote The Sun Also Rises. much later, however, he wrote "all i had to be cured of, i decided miss stein felt, was youth and loving my wife" (A Moveable Feast). he's writing about his early days in paris, decades earlier.

he published Sun Also Rises in 1926. he was 27 years old at the time of its publishing.

he tried to kill himself in early 1961 unsuccessfully, and then succeeded in july of the same year.

one year earlier, in 1960, he put together A Moveable Feast (though it was published four years later).

in Feast, he understands what he was trying to do in those younger years. in 1960, he writes that there were things back then, in the 1920's, that he thought he was doing, when he was really doing something else.

the original meaning is still, and always will be, there, but we will understand it differently (if not more completely) later, just as hemingway did.

taboo


Your Name:


Your Comment: