In the three novels of the Pale Horse, Pale Rider volume, "Old Mortality," "Noon Wine," and "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," I would like to propose that there is a trajectory from a deeply communal aesthetic, broken by a loss of innocence and an act of violence, and moving into an aesthetic of the highly atomized individual.
In terms of basic plot, "Old Mortality" expresses a deep sense of community: the plot concerns the legends and fates of a family, rather than individuals. Even Amy, who is clearly attempting to assert her individuality, is always discussed in terms of her relation to her family members: they admire her, they disapprove of her, etc. The two girls are woven into the family legend as an incorporated audience, as they compare their beauty to the beauties of the family. Even in terms of narrative technique, individual voices are conspicuously absent when Amy's story begins. Her legend seems to come from a generalized, collective family consciousness. Much of Amy's actual story (the ball, etc) seems to come from a singular, observing narrator, and only occasionally do individual voices add their supporting comments. In the third part of the story, of course, voices forcefully demand individual identity: Eva subverts the family legend, and Miranda determines to escape it altogether.
Moving into "Noon Wine," the narration is similar: as readers, we have the same distance from Mr. Thompson and we do from Mrs. Thompson. Descriptions of Mr. Helton at the dinner table suggest that Mr. and Mrs. Thompson are basically observing the same person, and sharing the same experience. However, after Mr. Thompson kills Mr. Hatch, the sense of perspective is narrowed. We either get Mrs. Thompson's internal thoughts, or Mr. Thompson's internal thoughts. There is an abrupt and disturbing sense of sudden alienation: They are no longer members of a family, but rather atomized and isolated individuals who no longer share the same opinions, experiences, instincts, etc.
Then, in "Pale Horse, Pale Rider," the atomization of the individual reaches its logical conclusion. Miranda is totally alienated from those around her, and experiences life as a lonely, singular consciousness, rather than as an incorporated victim of family legend (perhaps Porter wants to know which is worse?). First, she has an intense, internal dialogue when faced with the aggressive bonds salesmen--the ultimate result of war, in this case, is that one is never allowed to say what one thinks. One must remain impassive and keep emotions and opinions securely interior: in short, one must become an atom.
A prime example of this atomization is a conversation Miranda has with a girl in the hospital ward: the girl admits she doesn't really like delivering candy and cigarettes to wounded veterans. Miranda replies that she "hates it." The girl responds "cautiously," saying "I suppose it's all right, though." Then Miranda "turns cautious also," with a guarded "Perhaps."
Even with close friends, Miranda remains guarded and trapped inside the profound isolation of enforced patriotism. She ventures to tell Chuck, "I wish it were over and I wish it had never begun," but she is still checked by doubts: "What she had said seemed safe enough but how would he take it?" (290). In the family community of "Old Mortality," the characters were at least united by threads of common thought--by a collective legend to which they all contributed (for better or for worse). In "Pale Horse," the common legend is being forced upon society: none of the isolated individuals in the community are contributing their share of the story.
In contrast, Miranda barely even seems to know what Adam has on his mind, and, in the theater, Miranda looks a Chuck and "for the first time since she had known him she wondered what Chuck was thinking about."
This profound alienation, atomization, isolation (whatever you want to call it) can be read as a product of the war, a product of (presumably) Miranda's maturation, or a general indication of the times. But historically, the move from communal traditions and collective identity to the individuated, atomization of modernist society can be marked using WWI as the breaking point. In that respect, I think the sense of community in "Old Mortality" can be read as an expression of pre-war communal sensibilities. The act of violence in "Noon Wine" parallels society's fall from innocence during WWI. Then, "Pale Horse, Pale Rider" expresses the fears and isolations of the alienated individual looking into the disillusionment of the post-war future.
It isn't necessary to read these three novels from this frame--certainly, I don't think it takes anything away from them as individual pieces if you don't buy my historicist suggestion. But I do think the movement and structure of the collected volume probably has signficance that merits consideration. I think we should assume that Porter put as much thought into the order of novels in the collection as she put into the order of words in a sentence.
Thoughts? More articulate support or opposition than I seem to be able to come up with this afternoon?
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2 comments:
The trajectory you plot here from community to atomization rings true for me, but I think I would take it farther than atomization, and call it insularity. In making PHPR Miranda insular, I think Porter questions, "how well can you know a person, and by what means?'
Your reading of OM is markedly different from mine - though I don't deny the communal tone, I think that the number of voices is several (the grandmother, Harry, Gabriel, Eva, even Miss Honey all have attitudes toward Amy that implicitly tell her story) rather than absent. In fact, I think that the story of Amy is so told that that is why Miranda gets lost in the shuffle (and so, as you say, "determines to escape it altogether"). OM is about a public story, one that is open to continual, communal reinterpretation.
But where OM is extroverted, PHPR is introspective. If we read Pale Miranda without OM Miranda in the picture, we have the smallest idea of her past. Her father owned a farm; she has known Adam 10 days; this is why she has the society beat; etc. All of her background is recent and without personal reflection or insight. She is a stranger, which makes her sickness - in which she is lost within her own head, only now and again surfacing in reality - all the stranger a ride for the reader.
OM Miranda is overshadowed by the shade of her family tree and PHPR Miranda is a kind of brute character, with little exposition and an almost entirely internal journey. She is there and this happens to her.
Do we know either, or the two as a whole, better for these two extremes of characterization? To have one's family explained at the expense of one's own personal history, versus to explore a fevered introspection with little background of any kind - don't we arrive at similarly unsatisfying portraits of Miranda?
Or maybe I was the only one unsatisified.
I think this is extremely interesting and poignant to these stories. There seems to be a struggle (particularly in OM) between the needs, expectations, and histories of the community (family) and those of the individual. Can a person assert agency in the presence of an overarching mythos like the one present in Miranda's early life? How does that mythos affect the 'atomized' individual once they have supposedly broken free from its physical manifestations? I think these are key issues in these texts and I'm glad you can express them so succinctly.
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