Cather, Willa. A Lost Lady. 1923. Eds. Charles W. Mignon and Frederick M. Link. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1997.
What makes Cather a far more intriguing writer than I imagined she’d be when I signed up last term to take a seminar on her and her novels are her uses of point of view and perspective. Whether she’s working in the first person (My Ántonia, “The Diamond Mine”) or the third (O Pioneers, “Paul’s Case”), she so often uses peripheral narrators to get at her subjects. My Ántonia, for instance, is narrated by a boy named Jim, and Ántonia is only uncovered and understood through his perspective. It’s like Marlowe/Kurtz or Nick/Gatsby, and here it’s working in the form of Niel Herbert, who watches Marian Forrester shine as his small Nebraska town’s perfect embodiment of beauty and ladyhood. Then we come to understand that she has problems with alcohol and adultery, and Niel learns important lessons about appearances and the ethereal nature of most things.
Here, though, the POV gets sloppy as Willa puts us in the perspective of Captain Forrester—the wealthy railroad businessman whose dignity ends up being the couple’s real allure for Niel—from time to time, and also because the straight line deal between Niel and the Forresters limits this book into what’s more a novella than a novel. Niel’s gaze is directed so fiercely on their house that there isn’t much room for any other sideplots, or even self-introspection. All we know about his own life is that he goes to Boston for schooling for a few years. Once the Forresters’ stories have played out, the novel is through in 160 pages.
Cather’s such a great craftsperson, though. At one point, to signal to the reader that there’s more between two characters than simple acquaintance, she has static electricity light a spark between them as a robe brushes against a pair of slacks. There’s a pretty great passage about the erratic flight of a bird after its eyes have been sliced out by a mean boy. Yes, Cather’s good at capturing the life and landscape of the prairie, but I think I like her best for her language in general; her ultra-sharp eye and fantastic word selection. I’ll leave you with the end of “Paul’s Case” as a way to make my own case for reading her:
Here, though, the POV gets sloppy as Willa puts us in the perspective of Captain Forrester—the wealthy railroad businessman whose dignity ends up being the couple’s real allure for Niel—from time to time, and also because the straight line deal between Niel and the Forresters limits this book into what’s more a novella than a novel. Niel’s gaze is directed so fiercely on their house that there isn’t much room for any other sideplots, or even self-introspection. All we know about his own life is that he goes to Boston for schooling for a few years. Once the Forresters’ stories have played out, the novel is through in 160 pages.
Cather’s such a great craftsperson, though. At one point, to signal to the reader that there’s more between two characters than simple acquaintance, she has static electricity light a spark between them as a robe brushes against a pair of slacks. There’s a pretty great passage about the erratic flight of a bird after its eyes have been sliced out by a mean boy. Yes, Cather’s good at capturing the life and landscape of the prairie, but I think I like her best for her language in general; her ultra-sharp eye and fantastic word selection. I’ll leave you with the end of “Paul’s Case” as a way to make my own case for reading her:
He felt something strike his chest, and that his body was being thrown swiftly through the air, on and on, immeasurably far and fast, while his limbs were gently relaxed. Then, because the picture-making mechanism was crushed, the disturbing visions flashed into black, and Paul dropped back into the immense design of things.
posted by Dusty at 11:17 AM
5 Comments:
Also: those editors, it's been said, are legends at the cribbage table.
how does this tie into your post, dusty?
3 things:
1. The first paragraph of your, review? reminds me of a, well, the movie Malena reminds me of an inverse mirror (?) held up to that description of A Lost Lady.
2. What's with the centering?
3. I'm a huge fan of good word choice, to the extent that it interferes with my enjoyment of other parts of writing, but in terms of the quote you left us with - does anyone really feel their body flying immeasurably far and fast? Like I don't think you pause midflight to reflect on distance and velocity and conclude that it cannot be measured. I mean obviously she means "very," but I kind of subscribe to the "don't say 'very'" school of writing. Do you know what I mean? I feel that she's getting in the way. Do you have any thoughts on that?
Well have you read the story? Like she's kinda that way throughout it, in terms of perspective. Even though we follow Paul throughout, there's something very subtle going on with the narrator she's using where there's a distance of sorts. At least I feel this. I wish I had the story in front of me, but Paul's very much an object in the piece. "Paul's Case" reads to me as if the story was a case study, which, if you've read, like, Sacks or whoever, subjects get treated almost as objects. Case-study narrators seem to hold onto a large amount of control over their characters. So it's weird with the last few lines in that there's this outside watching, but also this kind of telling what Paul must be feeling.
I just think for someone who's had no direct experience getting hit by a train, it's incredibly spot on. Doesn't it feel like being hit?
Oh, and one last thing about Cather and point of view. A Lost Lady is, so far, her only example of using a peripheral character/observer (Niel) who is not actually a narrator. Niel's narrated about in the third person, but because his gaze is so fixed on the title character, the real subject of the book is her. But in the opening paragraph or so, a first-person "we" comes into play. So Cather's constructed this almost Jamesian first-person narrator to watch Niel watch Marian, so then of course in response everything said about Marian has to be filtered through Niel's agenda and then this narrator's, which with the tone of the opening chapter you can tell is kind of ironic and judgemental. This person describes the porch of Marian's house as being "supported by the fussy fragile pillars of that time, when every honest stick of timber was tortured by the turning-lathe into something hideous."
Cather's snobbery is something we'll be addressing throughout the term.
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