Marian Engel. Setf~Àea1izati~N and the Journey Motit'

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\ ,\ , . ( \ Marian Engel. setf~Àea1izati~n and the Journey Motit'

\ . . Suzanne Gagnon D.partment of English Master of Arts (

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ABSlI'RACT

, ( , \ The problem of self-realization., as it manifests ~ t- self i~ the novels of Marian Engel, is closely asslciated wi th \ two themes fundament:!lY lin1

\ twentieth~century literary visionl the notion" ai man as an \

isolated ent'i ty caught not only wi t~in:' the flux of an unc~r tain present, but wi thin the d,issod ated and confli ting aspects makinr; up his own identity; and, his' subseque t preoc- cupation with the search for personal authenticity and in tegr~t;ln, which frequently" involves the 'use of th journey l', " motif, be i t rnovement in a spatial, temporal or psychological ( semre. l ' Accordingly, Chapter l of ~his thesi~ is devoted mainl~ \ ta t}1e \elucidation' of the' major tenets comprising this particular stream of, contemporaI;"Y wri ting, and defines ErJel,' s t'r'ea - ment of the problem of self-realization and its relation to l the journey motif wi thin the c~ntext of the se priryciple s. '\ Chaptells ,II and III fùrther re1nforce- the r~levance "of Engel' S

th~mes to the abave:mentioned literary vision: th~ former con- . siders the drawbacks ta self-reali~ation as revealed by the'

l ' spatiat and temporal journeys; the lÇitter examine s the psycho-,,

log1.cal~journey as an indication th~t self-realization has ' 1 been achieved. Chapter IV briefly recapitulates and a~sesses <~ the rneaning of self-realizati'on wi thin Engel\' s fiction, and { , reasserts i ts posi tion a~ a concept central to the framework

of twentieth-cen~ury literature. \ " \ { ,l' ( 1"" t!' •

\ 1 \ \ - \ .. ... ,1 " l, 'Y, SOMMAIRE t t.. j 1 Le problème de la réalisation personnelle, comme,ll se ~

manifeste dans ,les oeuvres de Marian Engel, est asioci6 de tr~s l \ . \ ~ pr~s à deux thème~ fondamentallement liés à ce qui pourrait ~tre

défini comme ure vision littéraire du vinGti~me sièclè.1 la \ notio~ ~~ ~ de l' homme vu tomme un~ entité isolée aux prises flan seul ement l l~ " l ..., avec un présent incertaih ~is ausr.l avec les aspects dis- 4 s~ciabl~s et de mise en çonfli: constante de sa propre identité; 1 ;\ J et, subséquemment" sa recherche ct' ~ne\ authentici té et 4\'.une i

. intégration personnell~ qu'elle soit faite ~ans un sens spatfal, temporel ou psychologi4ue. Le premier chapitre, de cette thèse sc v'~u~ra un

éclaircissement des différent€s lignep de pensée de cf cour~t d'écriture contemporaine et démontrera la façon dont Marian

Engél traite le probl~me 'de la réali~tion de soi à di vers niyeaux. 'Les deuxHme et troisi~me c:api tres. pour leur part,

verront à renforcer l'à propos des th~mes de Marian Encel ~ l'intérieur de la vision'littéraire ci-haut mentionnées le premier de ces chapitres évoque les reculs de la réalisation de soi à l'intérieur d'une recherche spatiale et temporelle tandis que le second tend à démontrer que la recher·che sur lk plan

pSYChologique est la seule qui peut amener la réalisation ~e

soi. Le quatri~me chapitre revoit et réaffirme ce qu'e~t la

réalisation de soi ~ .1' intérieur de l' ,~cri ture de Marian Engel,

tout en ,insistant sur la place que doit prendre ce th~me aù 1 centre de la littérature du vingtUm-e~ sHcle. l ( , .. 1

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PREi' ACE

1 ',\ 1 wi -th the exception of several book revicw[~ and the

; occ(l[Jional interview, ve~y\ li ttle cri tica~. attention. he

it from a tl~matiC or styU stic standpoint, has been paip

ta the li te ary works of ~larian Engcl. Especially over-

, ... ",- ~ -~ Iooked j s her concern with the hiGhly problematical nature

of man's ~earch for self-real,zation within a Chao~ic\and

uncertain uni verse: a theme which çommand s 8 central pa[;j- 1

tion not only' wi thin the particular fra~ework of Encel' s ~f. li terary ,vi sion. but 'wi thin the more ceneral context of twentieth-century literature. Accordinely, the present study seeks ta reinforce the uncertainty attendiniG the

quest for personal nuthenticity aAd intecration hy ixamin

ine the concept of self-realization in relation -to éneel' S . " , ' use of the journey motif, and to establish the relevance ( of her treatment of this theme to several f)f th'e major -- tenets defining contemporary fict{on. Of themany people l should thank, the following' -

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0, CONTENTS ~':. fi fi, ~

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CHAPTER 1: THE PROBLEM OF SELF-REALIZATION A"ND

THE JOURNEY fl'lOTIF IN CONTEMI;>ORAR f,~ LI. 'l'ERA TU RE ••..•.•••••••• '\0' ..••.... , .. 1 1, \1 1 1 ... \ '.

CHAPTER II: THE ~AWBACKS ITO SELF-REA~f~ATION AS REVEALED BY THE SPATIAL A D TEMPORAL 22 -. -. JOURNEYS. " .• : ... " •. I •••••• , ••••••••• 'f .•• / CKAPTER III : THE P,SYCHOLOGI~~L JOURNEY AS AN \ l NDIÇATION OF SELF-REAL! ZATIÛ'N ••••••••.•• '1 54

CHAPTER IV 1 CO~CLUSION ... " .••.•.•••.••.••••••••.•••• ' .. 80, , , 1

l ' ~ LSELECT~D IHBlLI OGRAPHY ••••••.•••••••••", • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •• BQ., \." )" " ' ''t \,

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! CHAPTER 1 ( THE PROBLEM OF SEtF-REALIZATION AND THE JOURNEY MOTIF IN CONTEMPORARY LITERATURE

The relevance of alienation, 10ss of self, fragmen tation and victimization as concepts central to the vision

of contemporary literature has long been established by th~

frequency of their use to de6cri~e the tensions Inherent in modern day existence. 'l'hat "our age ls not simply an age of

~\ change or transition, bU1' much more u1timately, an age of

~riBiS,"1 18 reflected by "the 1066 of faith in. the super \ ~ 1 natura1, the triumph of scientlfic rationalism followed by the c011apse of th~ utopian ideal,"2 ~\1 of whlch laft its , shattering impact on the twantfeth-cèntùry. mind in the form of a"p~vaBive epidemic Ôf,anxiety, skepticism, ~oubt' and inde ci sion. History prediçts \, no salvation for man and accords nO'meaning retrospecti velly to his efforts. The 'dom inant political trend of the age fortlfi~s ! the collecti VB and technical" organization 1 of society, ... Existentialist philosophy ex . poses the ,absolute nudi ty of· the self in a world devoid of preconceived values or sig nificance.3 r) \. j

With the breakdpwn'of flxed~ ethlcal standards and accept éd, efIectua1 modes of feeling and conduct. "chance and

1·1 -- ~<;, '\ • " 'absurdity rule human actions••• and ••• r~ality is but'another name' for chaos."4 In 'a world govern'ed by contingency,, , ,credenèë 'can no longer be given -to the ~ion ,of the uni- 1

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1 verse as a stable, "symmetrical and h'armonious ent ty of- 1 fering "an assured resting place for,.'the quésting ou1i.5 , wi thln a logical s,eries of correB,P'~.mdences. The a .ur~ \ a;'ce of ordered permanen~e has been sin\\e replaced iby t~ansience and disintegratio\nl,' , ' 1 Everywhere the, old configurations have . \ br0)ce'n up. Out of the flux that has supers~d~d the comparative flxl ty of the past, new forms, rapidly crystalllse only ta dissolve once more lnto the pow of thlngs; Society no longer offers the app~arance\of an entit~, but 15 instead conceivgd ~s an aggreg te of'confli~ting . forcee. . .. 1 • Once d' flned in termo of absolutes and as entirèly

l' 1 >"'" he r f;e of man' s comprehension, the uni verse has now' , \ \ c, e be v,isualized\as a relativ~. and, therefore conf~~ng J welt of phenomena. ~ercei ved from a,; mui tiplici ty Of per- " l ' ' f 1 specti es, reali ty becomes "prob~ematlcal, ..• truth la '.

unatta~nable, reason ls bankrupt, huma~ knowledge a sub-

ject~;e di stortlon ... 7 !I 1 \ 1 1 'Wi th the emergence of a radicall}y transf~rmed

world view. the concept of man in cont'~porary l1tera- 1 , 1 tupe undergoe,J! a corr~spondirgly extrem~metamorPhosiB. 1\ • "The dialectic forces of history atM soc' ety (the World) 8 affect our idea of the self' (thè '"Haro) Il to such an extent

~ that "the upheaval of our world and the, pneaval in ~on~ .. sciouàness la one 'rd the' same.·· 9 FoPite ly daring ..... in- , J tegrated apd self-a,ured. the self lB .w portrayed as .. powerless and 'fractureb. , ',1 ( \ 1 \ 1 - ,. -

J ,\ i, 1t , ~ \ broken into warring lernents, pal sied ' 1 { wi th doubt and indeci sion, no ,lJ.onger sure of·i t'self. An' a e that i8 skep- , ,/' tical of aIl absolutes can do ,no more i~ than ask questions, it can hit up6n ' l' ~~ no satisfactory solution ta iits e:x.- , lstential dilemmas. 10 , l,' \ ~ t Ironically, the mediaeval c01ceptl' ofl "ma!lsumming \ u~ the l l1 univers. in himself· ,still imaintal s a strong h014 on l the modern! imagination, but the c~rrf~pondence betwe\en man (micro osm) and the cOsmds, (macrocosm) is now Il heg- , / ative one mphasizing, fragmerttation and insecuri.t~ at the / 1 i expense 0yeSi'On: or.,.~er and stabi.lity. In oth~r words, •f

/ "modern ma~eems to find the, labS'rinth 'an accurate me~a- \ l, \ i 1 , 1 phor for h~ms If andl the' wo~ld. in which he lives. ,,12 . ' l ' 1 Th i m~d ..f~edl verslot. 0 f the re1'" at~onshlp bet~een man unive se has rehdered untenable "the notion l ' 1 sUb;stantial ènti ty ... 13 No lot\ge 1 • 1 •

1 un~tary g, i t hfl.s come to be~ de fined as "$.- ,1 1 endles8 en$iPiltty,"14 a COl'lection of ~o~ 1 i 1 ing id nti ties mad up of dissoeiated re pe1s n- / _ali ty become s shif' and illusive if ln f1 "now sees w~ th n

) , 1 him mtny sel ve s, s he bel:-ieves, morl real than others." 15 . 1. \ Cons,ci'ous c anges ,in the delineati n of Ch~ae~er

l~ave. e~anated from this new unde"rstanding of man. If' 1 ~ersonàlity la now Seen "in the light' of ts moment:'by ). moment ~enewal ,'" 16 heni\"the fixing -of pe sona1i ty by . . \ ç . external descrlptio • b labe~s ·and de!in t\ion~ and .1

l liste 'of characteri tics, 17 mulet be dise oded \as falai- ( , !

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by renonant images, by fragmente~ char acterizations. by telling juxtapositions. by a "disordered arrangement of the scene s and by haphazard gHmpses into human states of consciousness and mood18. 1

can the contemporary wri ter accurat~ly convey and reln- forc·e his sense o'r' the pretean and ambiguous nature of the self,

~ It i s clear. therefore. that man has become as rel a ti ve as hi s uni verse. Furthermore..i na' world of , " tiifle and proce~s, he "is no longer ~ privileged being,

but a 0 victim. seeking in vain ta rise abov'e nothing nest ..• 19 viewlng himsetf as "a trivia,+ item in some t

"'1 vast equation of forces .•. that ... tend to run down inr- .J '

to an average èondi tion. a compromi se, and inertia, i, 20 \ man' s ~xistence takes on a neutral quali ty char'acterized

by. expériences not truly his Ownl ,- • 1 Mentally and spiri tually paralysed he 1 is uJIlable to commit himself to a cause, 1 sa that he must ~s9ume a raIe in life as spectator rather than' ,participant, C a dreamer locked ' in the' cage of a dream. 21 ~_ ' , l ' 0 " ,~ Yet; despJ,.te man' s reduced capaoity for. self- . ' l' -' determining actipn, choice remaina, paradoxi oall y • bot!l hi~ glory an:d his' burden. 22 If th~ self does riot eiist as a preformed enti ty, i:f "in every instant it is that which 18 t~ become, .. 2) then each man, "ls involved in the struggle for existence, and each ohoice he m,kes .15 / crucial. "24 _."

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( Man's peculiar awareness of his situation is fur~ .' ther complicated by his sense .of alienation . ,.' Essentially

~oli tary, n he ls put on his own feet. expe~tèd ta stand aIl by himself. n25 Confined within his own point of view, .r:" his perception of reality remains not only partial to the

" extent that it is individual, but suspect. He must live 1 , " . with the fact t~~t his subjective conclusions are the '. ~nly Il trut~s" he will ever know. and "the se, too. may

be illusions. He' cannot affirm t he cannot deny. Il 26 Sim ilarly, man's reoognition that he "lives with others,'

, but faces the' others al one ," 2~ se"verely c~rcumscr~bes " hi$ knowledge of those with whorn he cornes in cont~ct. As A.A. Men~ilow states~ We do not see ourselves as others see us. We ~re aware in ourselves of the w~ole pressure of the past on our pres-" ente of the tug and clash of fQrces that may or may not express themselves in terms of action. We kno'f ourselves from the, inside, WB are to ~ greater or lesser extent omniscient about o,,\rselves, As regards others, however, we are mere spectatorsl we- can only guess at their motives from thelr actions and behaviour. d'1rect evidence of \the interior' of their minds we cannot have •. '. . We know only the -: resul tant of the forces that work in them -, \' as it expresses itself in outward behaviourJ in ourselves. we ~re aware of the complex ' and ever-~hifting equilibrium of conflict. ing fo.r~es as ,weIl, beiore they reach their \ \ expreSS10n in "ac~ion.28

A fragmented and' isolated victim caught wi~hin the fl~x of an unreliable unlverse, modern man i s inevi tàbly thrôwn 'back upon hll'lself. forced to rely' ~~n ',his own 1~- . l , ,C

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ternal resources. He "ceases to look for rational justi-

fieations. If standards of good and evil exist at aIl, ,v: 129 they are ~res~~' in man alone." He "must shape his own meaning and~invent his own values ... 30 Thi s foeus on "the indi vidual ,and his need for self- 1 reliance lS reflected in pootemporary 1'i terature by a new introversion of :forro invol ving a .. turning away from the objective world pf society toward the inner world of the , '... self for i ts sub ject matter. Il)1 The issue here ia not the alleged di sintegration of soc iaI categori'es in the novel but the creation of new ca te~ories of form which ! ul timately rest on the va+.ues of a hero confronted by a worltl intelli- gible in speci fic areas of experience, bewildering as a whole.32

Although man possesses .. the conceptual a1+ili ty .,. to realise 1 where he stands in relation to hie pa st and to his problem Il

atical future, .. 33 the chaotic uncertainty of what' lies a- #

head forces him to withdraw into the more familiar world of memory. The interior landscape of the hero thus gains \in' prominence 'as he seeks i'in agonl\ising solitariness ta ~Jderstand the inscrutable present" 34 through' the examina- 1· ' ,r'~ '~ t\i~n and asse\ssment 'of' his personal and collective his~ory, "the mental baggage of' a lifetime," J?\whi~h consti tutes hie 'M .') o \ spiri tua! fabric. q

l, This tendency toward introspe~tion in the modern \ novel re~dilY suggests that th\, hero' B fundamen~al Ch~~, ! ï , lange fn life ia the discovery of \ wh~ he .ls. If man him- : (

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L, 1 self ~is now the crucia~ mysterYI"J6 then the problem of J . { the contemporary li tirary ~ero i8 essentially one of self t \ realization. "His search is for existential fulfi11ment, -~t ,~

that i9, for freèdom and self-defini tion.\ \vha ~ he hopes 1:;, '.j t., to find is la posi tion h~ can take wi thin himself. "37 It ".~ \ t is Ol;ll'y man who "presumes to ask "Why" of the uni verse, "J~ 1 \ and who "feels impelled to give a final account of himself to himself. "39 He alone "is given his existence with only \ 1 a potential e·ssence,"I.J.O and it is his responsibility te 1 1 create a reasonably coherent and satisf~ing identity from this essence."

Yet, the ~oncept of self-realization is rendered highly problematical if one takes i~to accou~t the new c/ notion of the self pre~iously discussed which foeuses tin

\ man as a fluid and multifaceted entity ever eluding ~om-

~lete defini ti,on. \ Furthertnore, man' 5 desire fo'r the per sonal,authenticity which self-realization implies is sim , ilarly" hampered by the fact that he faces.this task alonel Although Many human problems are~im \ ' ilar~ they are never identical III Be 'causé of these factors of samei11ess and difference, it i6 difficul~ to summarize the infinite variations of the process of individuation. The fact is that each petson has to do \ so~ething different, S6mething that laI uniquely his own. 41 Despi te the, numerous deterrents to' hie' success, \ the determination o~ the ~ero in modern fi~tion to '0 achieve personal in'tegration, • to speak" out as an "1" .42 c •

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from among aIl the frar;mp.nt3 of hi G identJ. ty. i8 rvinçe-ù \ by the repeated use of the theme of the journey: If one

vlews tlhe journey moti 'f as \a .. fundamental expressi.on of " human awareness and a3Pirat~an"4J' illu9tratin~ the "more .t prof6und q~estionings of man on the nat~re of his iden ,', 44 ti ty 1 .. thert 4t'a..relevance ta' the corl-Çept of self- , ~"""-' , realization in contemporary)literature cannot oe over- l' . estimated. / It ls not the purpose here to limit the analysis

of the j~~rney motif ta i ts archetypal pattern of the

quest involving "a separation from t~e war~d. a penetra- tion ta sorne sO\~rce of power. and a life enhancin~ retlIrn, "4 ~

for to do GO wou'ld destroy i ts unique appl icabil i ty ta the twentieth century. Although the mythica\ pe~spective at . ' , tirnes adopted by modern fiction may be viewed as "an ad'- , '0-. mission that we seek an arder Whi~~~rJason and science have f~iled ta provide,,,46 ta explain

pre~~nt literary circumstance by ref 1 • erente to archetypal patterns is te ignore the peculiari ties of present \ prectice and n~ed.\ To say that bas ically we are linked to the\ past by \ arche typaI means is to descri~e false ly\the particular nature of our hun~ ger for transcendence ... While we may find types of identity wlth, the past, we are not what we wer~ sorne tha~sa~d~ of years ago. However tempting lt .15 J to suegest archetypal identifications, our psychic peculiarities are in the end àvailable only to the sober testi mony of systematic ident~,ication. To say otherwise is to igno~~ both the ' \ diiémma and the specifie intelligence of our times. 47 " (

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\ The m~taphor Qf the "way" with its deeply sig- (. nificant associa~ions of solitude. peril and battle is

\, inseparable from 9-il quest-li terature. 48 even that of the ~ twen~ieth century. but t~e sense of'purpose ind direction which USUillY,informed latter-day quests is very often

absent in t~e journe~ pf the contemporary hero. This

repeate~ omission of one or another of the basic elements

of the archetypal ~uest. patt~rn is rele~ant in itsélf,for it functions as a tblling comment on the nature of modern man and hiG encounter with a universe fraught with tran

sience\and uncertainty. In a world domiDated by contingency, \ \ 'man 1 s ~·thoughts and insights are at best partial truths. , mixed ~i th a great deal of 'error. "49 Due ta the subjective , and therefore limited quality of his perceptions. the out-, "'- come of his decisions is neyer assured. Thus. the quest - " 1 for certainty blocks nut the quest for meaning. \The hero begins

1 wi th ,a purpose he beHe'ves himself suf- '\ \ ficiently in control of circumstances to \\ carry out; but ta be human i5 to act on partial \knowledge;- and so events he could not foresee. the past which he ha~ forgot ten, rise up to thwart him. He undergoes a passion. he 15 acted upon, he suffers. HeCemerges from thisJsuffering with a new perception of what tne forcès are 'which . govern his world. We aIl know, or 50 on learn~ \yhat i t i8 tQ think that we can . ,\ plan ,the future, what it 15 to suffer as these plans go awry, what it is to learn at 1ast whai; past acts--our own or other people's--were at work to ren- der impossible Qur illusion of being in control of destiny. 50 •

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Man' s reason proving as a guide, his impo~ent1 H51 journe~ "di~fers markedly from t~e archetypal pattern. , ,

" " marches forward, though he knows not in which directipn he is going, forward or backward. His journey is in the nature of a 'quest tha t he believes can never be fulfilled.52 The absence of any ascertainable meaning or goal is fre ~uently ~voked by the fact that'the hero of modern fiction ,1 1 reaches dut for a \sense of purpose tha\ will "justify his journey through space and ~ime, but he is unsuccessful in his efforts. , He knows there i8 only man who, with his'living consciousness~ in- vests the phenomenal world with reality; ... but his place in the society of his ae;e, hi SI invol vernent in the here and now, is not ~nough ta satisfy \him.5J ~ \ If the contemporary hero' s journey ls "open" q.ther t,hah

"closed", usuàlly forming "no ~. que st" wi th a grail purpose l, and a 'salvational ending,"54 then thet'e i8 np e;uarantee \' , ~ that it will lead to self-fulfillment, to a higher level , of~"consciousness within which experience acquires deeper In modern quest-lit~ra~uret one does not "discover until the end ... what the true meaning of the _ 1 " 6 events has been.,,5 Fre~uentlYt \ ,the confusion is never resolvedl the reader is intentionally left baffled about one or more questions raised by the work. The final «'clairciGGcmont", if one can still use this term for Buch dimly lit matters.r. is a view of total" meaninglessNess.Df • The fact\ that the "heroic motif, which seems to (

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, have h~d an almost compulsive strength in the age of myth, , 5B ( has no authority in the age of reason," rnay 'be ci ted as one of the primarY,reasons for the necessity of a re~efini- tion of the concept of. the journey, as a flight towards a 1./ '1 more profound personal awareness. The contemporary.literary hero is no longer regarded as a "personage of excep- ~ ~ional gifts»59 whose actions "are gauged b~ a standard of communal i~terests, of functional'efficiency.,,60 De-

fil1ed "by the ironie tensions between an igel~sS mythical , , function and a modern spi~~ of profound SkePt-ic~sm, ,,61 \ he ha, bec orne an anti-facto~, , ,a religious symbol without rèligidn a, mythic imaee without benefit of a myth,r a figure transcendent by virtu€ of its nakedness rather than its communal author-, -ity. for him the essence of the self \~a"the essence of the world are "not" one and_ the same, and the broken pattern all his actions recalls the futile courage of a Sisyphus toiling to unite one pole of experience t~the other. No longer a representative of aIl the divi~ powers men want to propitiate, he i8 sim ply the mediator of forces that torm~nt ,r\ their existence. Insulted and injur~d, his,strategy i8 more often $ubhuman than superhuman, ... A grotesqi,le 'effigy to the , rule' of chaos, he still placates darknes8 with the light of human agany or human -1 derisibn .. Clowning his way ta anarchy or immolation, his design is stIll to 1 create 'a unity where none can obtain save' in the momentary repose of arti fice. Elements of the Greek •• alazoplt , imposter, compulsive rebel, or outs~d er, the "eiron", the humble, se~f-depre cating man, andPthe "pharrnakos", scape goat and randorn victi~, unite to form the tarnished ~a1o weighlng on hia head., In ,the end, hbwever, ,his character la simply rj,

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,1 ~ wha t remains ta a hero when self and ( :' world' are thrown, out of joint 1 and self transcendence is sought though aIl the , ' gods may be defunct. 62

,Furthermore, if the hero t s "fideli ty to his indi viduali ty ". ' is what constitutes the fabric of heroism, ,,~) then modern \ man is n~ccssarily anti-heroic in view of the futility ~n- herent in the attempt to remain loyal ta an identity naw defined as open-ended. [orever in the stages of becoming.

Yet, despite its emphatic insiste~ce on man's di minished status, his incessant failures and indignities,

an~ his tenuous position in a world threatened by chaos and absurdity, modern fiction also reveals a similarly pronounced emphasis on "the necessity of courage, not the

. , courage 10 reGi~t, so much as the ~ourage ta accept,,6~ and to affirm lif~ in spite of its complexities and con-; \ tradictions. In an age when man is portrayed as having ( . \ only himself to rely on, cour,age must be regarded as the prime virtue because it is the virtue of self-sufficiency. It cOnfers dignity on meaninglessness. The hero ... encounters nothingness, and his cour \\ age i s the courage of siinply being. For what ,is put on trial is the very .J _existenpe oï man, nct his heritage or future, his property or belieïs. 65 Although failure and frustration may attend his search, '/ -" man's • quest for a meaningful destiny in a uni verse of protons and neutrons rep resents a triumph of spirit, a , search for transcendence. , Ta in sist that the world ia mcnninc;lcGo ", Il ( implies that the mind of man can

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reCOEnize roeaning or that it is ta be found ~n the structure of the universe. 66 AccOrdi~lY, it is with reference to this twen tieth-century literary vision concerning man and the "• nature of his universe truat the problem of self-reali- \ ' \: zation, as it manifests itself in the literàry works

of Marian ~nge~_, will be examined. As this ana~ysis proceeds, it will become readily apparent that the in- . 1 terior landscape of the heroine is central to Engel's

Ii terary vision., Tnî~r-vlsion ~ncorporates the notion il' of man ae a subjecti "f/e percei ver in a uni verse fun-\

damentally obj~ctive and impersonal in nature. In , \ other words, man's perceptions and his view of himself are shaped by his past experiences. and •the resulting, , self-image exerts a strong influence' 6n his ,future capac ! ity for self-determining action. Consequently, within j' the framework of Engel's novels, self-realization de i ~ notes a highly individuaiized, critical self-assessment involving, ~or eadh of her heroines, an evaluation of

the- past in a~ attempt to order and come to terms with J a c~~cttic and uncertain present. ~ J ' The notion of self-realization, as defined above. 1 will be disCUSSQd in terms of Engel' s use of the,\ jour ney. a motif whicn suggests three types of movement: spa tial (moyement through space, as in a physical journey

from point of d€parture ,to point of,destiriati~)1 te~- c .\

o 1

--",\

14 ~ f ).,, poral (rnovernent throuch time, in this case a backward ~ ~ 1 movemen~ to variouG past experienceG. whtch may or may . , , J; not ac~ompany a phYEical journey), and, finally. psycho- ,( \ logical (moyement towards an integrated assessment of j f) ,<., .. Il '!:r"-. ,. . the silf. involving, cssentially, a process of mental i, readjustment to ~oth' the circumstarlcles dcfining one' s ~ , 1

'v" pres€nt situation and a new environrnent). l ' 1

J () l,:n spi te of the fact tha t Engel var':i.es her em " l'~ ~, , phasis on the type of rnovement use~ in her depietion of \ 1, 1 the prpceas of 8elf~realization, the journey motif, be it spatial, ~empo1al ~r psychological, inevitably oe , Gasions 1:ioth an examination and evaluatiol'l of the 'self. • Consequently, the journey motif not only funetions as a \ structural device (the physical journey.devoid of psyeho \, ' logical implications is limited to the' function of "

movi~g characters from one point in space to anather in orde'r to fulfil the particular requirements of the plot)" . , \ but i8 inextricably bound to the concept of self-reali- '. zation which i t bath defines and emphasizes. By employing the methodology inherent in the jourJ ney motif, it will be shown that, within the framework of \ Engel's novels, the process of self-rcalization does'not , - nece~arily guarantee ~ positive outcorne in terms of an integrated and well-formulated awareness of the self.

Functioning as a major impediment to, self-definition ls , , /~ the recognition, on the part of Engel'~ protagonists, l' \ l' (

, \ .. \ ,--______~ ______---.-·------,r==~==~~y~ -_._._~~".,,",~--'-~--"-""'-'-- u .. 15 'i

that their identitics seern not only forever in a stae;e "- of transition. but composed of diverse and conflictine; clements. Furthermore. as one or another of the protag- ' onists journeys throuGh the various stages of self-reali zation peculiar to her o~ individual situation, her shortcomings, weaknesses and failures will be inevitably 1 , revealeEl alone; wi th those aspeets of her character which ~ (. are commendable or praiseworthy. In other words, the .~ recognition of one's. lim~tations can work either for or against the protagonist. In the former case, the acccpt-

~ , ance of one's limitations is coRdùcive, to a more accurate , \1 \'.

assessrn~.. of who one is, and( -to - ______a 1' correspondingly more • valid definition of one's personal goals; in the latter case, t~e inabi:ity ta accept one~~~limitations culmi

nates in feelirles of'defeat' and confusion~ S~milarly, ! \ the eXa{flina tion of one' s past may become an p bsession, " t . - 1 and hence, a di srupti ve ratfter~ than a therapeutic pro- , J cess. in th~s typ'e of si tuar\ion, the protaeonist rc veals a tendency to ,dwell on aspects' of her past with 'which she t§ incapable of coming to terms at the expen~e

of integrating what was productive from 'her previous ~x

perionqes into her present life'J Thus, within the con text of Marian Engel' s"literary visiorw "the protae;onists' 1" 1 journey towards self-realization may culminate in either order and integration or chaos and frar,mentation. With this in mi~d, the problems\emanating frorn ( t 1 \ l 16 . . " ~I, , \ l , , 1 the attempt to gain a f:uller' appreh'ension :f the self 1 (: • 1 '1 as revealed by the ppat1al and tempbral rneys, will f \ 1 .... now be fu"lly examinèd l ~ 'f, /

J.!" \ 1 1 ..

. ,

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! ,

CHAPTER l

.' lMalcolm Bra bury, 1h.e. ~o_cial Context oL Moderl! =E:.;..:n=:::.r=::h Li terature Oxford Il Basil Blackwell, 1971) 1 p. 14.

" 2Charles 1. licksberg, T~e.;2I.!:Q.r:!ic Vision _~n Modern Liter ~ure (The Ha 1 Martinus Ntj~off, 1969) t p. 16. i

ical Innocencel Studies in the Con :'::"::'7-=~~-r= lPrinceton, NewtJerseYt, Princeton , p. 20. ~

n " Timé and .the Noset, Intro. by J. Isaacs' ( ities Press,19 5 , pp. 6-7.

6 bid. , p. 6.

7 GIÜ:ksberg., .' ci t" p. 14-2. 8 ' Hassan, ~. . , : p. 8. \ 9C. G. Jung, M in Search of a Soul, Trans. . by\ W.S. De11 'and G . aynes (New York, -Har,colirt. Brace and World, Inc., 193 )~'. p. 211. A 10Char1es 1. cksberg, Modern-Literature and the ~h of God' (The el Martlnus NIJhoff,, 1956J, p. 20. • 1 llE.M. w. Ti1 The Elizabethan '~orld\ p~'ctu;e ' (New York. Random Ho Inc. 1 1942), p. 91.

1J Han s Meyerho ff 1 ..:T.:;;:i:;.;.m~~-:::-=-.=....:.r=-::==-~ l' Los Angeles, University 9

14wylie Sypher, Lo,ss of the Self in Mo ture and)I\Art (New York, Alfred A. ~noPf t lric~.p=.:>~~~=-=--59:\

C', '.. . - ~. \ ...... t?, t,8 "

t5Garzilli, 2]. oit., p. 7.

16 A. A~ Mendilow. ~. ci t'., p.. 150.

-r~> 17Ibid.,p.149.

18Richard Kostelanetz, "Contemporary Lite~ature," in Richard Kostelanetz, (Ed.), On Cont!mnorary Literatur~ (New York, Av~n Books, 1964), p. xxii.

19G1icksberg, Modern Literature and tRe Death of Gad, .Q.P.. cit., p. 22. , 20Sypher, 21!. ci t. , p. '71. , '"

21,Glicksberg,· The Ir0X}ic Vision in Modern Li ~erature 1 .Q.:Q. ci t., p. 16. '." 22Edmund Fuller, Man in Mo,dern \\.fiction (New Yor~u ' Random House, ;Inc." 1958), p. 2J. 1T

2JGlicksberg, Modern Literature and the Death of , God, ~. cit .• p. 21.

\ \ \

.,.. 25Erich Frpmm, The sa~ {Greenwtch, Conn~ a Fawçett Publications, Ino., 1 1 p. 175. "

2§§lick~berg, The l'l'oni VisipP ~n l'1odern Li'terature ," 9.E. ci t. 1 p. 256. 1 \, , , . 27SYPh'~ • .QR. oit; ~ p ..~65. " . - 2~Mendilow, ~.' cit. 1 pp. 114... 115. . j 29GliCkS~e~g, ~he Ironie Vision in Modern Literatur~, -1 .Q.l! • oit •• pi' JJ. " : - ~, i .. J01bid. r ,11

, '

bfD.' \ 19 ,.' r .- (' 31John Henry Raleigh, "Thè E'flglish Novel and 'Three Kinds of Time," in Robert Murray Davis. (Ed.). The Novel 1 Modern Essays in Criticism (Englewood Cliffs. New Jerseyl Prent1ëe~Hall. Inc., 1~. p. 249.

cit .• p. 105. 32Hassan. ~. -- ., . 33Duncan Williams~ Trousered Apes (New York: Church / hill Press Ltd. " 1,971),. p. 158.

34C. A. Patri~es, "Introductionc Time Fast and Time Pr~Gent." in C.A. Patrides, (Ed.). Aspects of Time (Toron to and Buffalo. University of Toronto Press, 1976), p. 1. v 35.Margaret Laurenpe. "Tlme and the NarI"ati ve Voiee." [n John Metcalf, (Ed.). The Narrative Voices Short Staries and Reflections ~ Canadlan Authors (Toronto, McGraw-Hill Ryerson LimLted. 1972). p. 129. .,

0' ~ 36 J~eph Campb~J.l Î The H~ro Wi th a Thousand Faces, Bollingen Series (Princeto~, New Jersey, Princeton Uni- versity Press, 1968), p. 391.

( 3?Hassan, ~. ci t .• p. 31.

38Glicksbe~g, The Ironie Vision in Modern Literature, p. \ 2P. ~., 145. ~ .1 39Davis Dûnbar McElroy, Existentialism and ~odern ·Li terature J An1Essay in Existen'tial Cri tlCism ( New York 1 The Pr~ss, p. Citadel 1993),, 4.

40Ibid. t p. 40 ~ 4 ; lM.-L. von Franz~ "The Process of Individu~tion,"

in C.G. Jung, (Ed.), Man and His Symbols (New York,, \ Dell Publishing Co., 1964f;"p-:-"Œ7.~-- .-. " \ , " 42 ,: ~~.

'. Garzilli, ~. oit., p. 2.

.' ,43Kin~Sley Widmer, The Li tèr~y-.Rebel (Carbondale . bnd Edwards ille. Southern Illinois university Press. 1~65) ;l\~ p. 84. ' l' , t 44Garzil-li f ~. ci t •• p. 89. / \ ~ .(

, \ .\ -

'\ 4.5Campbell • .Q.P.. ci t., p. 35. ( ,,'

\ .' 46Hassan, Q,Q. ci t., p. lO? ~ 47Frederick 'J. Hoffmap~ Freudianism and the Li er ary Mind, 2nd ed. (Loui B~ana'l Lo~ui siana Uni versl ty Pr ss, 1957), pp. 329-))0. .' .-e;:~ '~ , i 48Northrop Rrye, Anato~ Cri ticisma Four Essays, /;II, )rd ed. (Princeton"" New Jers.ey: Princeton University Press, 197) ) t p. ~ 44. . 0

49From~t QE. cit., p. 174. . 50Carolyn G. Heilbrun, Toward a R~eognition of An 1 drop;'(ny (New Yorkl Alfr~d A. Knopf, Inc., 1973), p. 91. i

51Glieksberg, The Ironie Vision in Modern Literature, .Q.E. ci t., P: 225. \

52tbid., p. 13 .

.53Ibid., p. 225. 4 5 W1'dJn eT , .Q.2,"t' .2.l.-• , p. 90 . •

, 56wayne C. Booth, The Rhet~ric of Fic·Ùon ,1(Chicago , and Londona The University of Chlcago,Press, 19~'l), p. 287.

/ -\ 57rbid., p. 297. 1 /''' '58shumaker, .2].~ci t. 1 p. 139. / . 59camPbell\ ~. ci t. ,: p. JS. 1 60 .".t 1 ':\J Hassan, ~. ~. ~ p. J' 1 ~l~bid., pp. li2-12). l .' p \ (

\ --.:""1 ..... =....--r-:------.'.--* ~---~r . ..'l.4-:~ -~ ...... -.-::-:,,;-::: ..7':': ...~, ..:-:!:"_":"' • ..,..4'1!."'$ __"""'""s'!""". ~~--- . t 77 l' '; ,§ 'un: . ru 1 tg',.;,.,· ..... fI .- L._""",..!,,';:"~·.. t ' 2 - -

' .. f 62Ibid. , pp. 11)-114. '11'"'' ' 63 GarZl. 1, 2.J2.. ru., p. 4 • ' ~.

" 6l~D. G. Jones, Butteril.y on Rock.!...._~mage6 in Canadian Literature (Torontol Universlty of Tor~nto Press, 1970), p. 8.

. :65Hassan, ~. ~.,t p. 116'..., - \ 66Glicksberg, Th~ Ironie Vision in Modern Literature, 22. oit., p. 260. - j

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f CHAPTER II , , THE DRAWBACKS TO SELF-REALIZATION , ·,AS REVEALED 81 ( THE SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL JOURN~{S

Upon close exam i nat i on 0 f t h e nove 1\·s, 1 t '.15 C 1 ear1 y , " evident, that Marian Engel shares in the twentieth-century \ \ 1iterary consciousness, previously delineated. through her , , \ focus,on alienatlon, fragmentation and entrapment as

1 1 1 factors inhibi ting, ane' s progress towards self-realization. ,- In The HoneY!llan lesti val, ,Minn Burge is portrayeà as a , \ frustratedf diss~tisfied woman in the 1ate stages of \her ,(~

fourth and somewhat unwelcome pregnancy. , \te Acutely aware '.

of her PR~sica~ ~wkwardners, of her ambivalen~ attitude ~o' , , her three ~oydenish children,"l whom she refers to habitual- \ 1 \ 1y as "they", "there were who1,e day~ when she barr~11ed around the'house,muttering against her raIe of servànt to multitudes. "2' Forever tamping down the im~atience and ir- , ritation inevi tably provoked by her maternal responsibili-" \ ties, she ls, at the' sarne time, ,hattnted by the fear th~t\ sh~ ls unqualified to be a motherl \ , Child-rai~ing manual~ continually destroyed her, pushed her against monoliths. the perfect housekeeper, the perfect disciplinarian, the perfect mother. There was no way of raising herself to a decent levei of aohieve- ment, and no way of aocepting failure. The , } only thlng to do was keep away rrom the literature. ' '\ ob .' And she ke~asochi stic~1y et - -t ) ing toi 1 t. (27-28, \

\ 22 \ Cl r \ ), /'

\, 2} " " 1

Through the usa of the dream, Engel reinfor?es the ~n .securities emanating from Minn'e role as mother and house-

~:eper. Having id1id away the qay at a downtown sale, she

'! returns home to find that she had put the children'"to nap ~\ " in the bath.1 They were beautiful, not puckered at all from the water. They were curled up like little gleaming fish,

1 1 tt : and dead - (5). Recalling the dream, \ ' , her mouth was dry. This was tlTe. hardest instinct to face, the destructive one, when the stieky)hands soin. ed the ego and the shrill demahds plucked at the eardrums, and when you 'tried to steal. a moment for youÏ'self the innocent face s hardened, into j animal stupidity. The~ you thought of Mrs Prentic'e-in-Godwin who killed aIl hers wi th àn axe ... and Prue Jarvis, who went to bed for a nap when her husband was in East Afriea and woke a forthight later in a psychiatrie 1 ward (not having commi tted violence, only neglect), and the small, sadistic gestur~s " , ,of women in imprisoned situations .... St~I;r~, she was shocked when the rough beast as saulted hér dreams, the'deep, selfish and \ murderous desire to be alone and independeht again. (5) \

Audrey Moore, the protagonist in One-Way ~treet, ~s a thirty-six year old woman from a Lake Ontario village who'

has been seeking freeddm and purpose ~n England ever sinee her abortive marri age to a, homosexual and falled concert

1 pia~ist a deeade ~efore. f". Living in Greeee at the start . ' ' 4 of the novel. she i,B "struck by the "shabbiness" of her

\ whole existence, and is tormented by the tact that the mysteries of the Island, the solving of which. for her, are 1 crucial to her understanding of who she ia'l'and of lir'e in general, seem to be ,constantly eluding her gra$p. To AUdrey, (

. \\ - \ \ ",,

ttnothing is any good tt (200). D~elling on the negative 1 aspects of her static condition, she informs her local l J ,'. \ lover that her world has turned "from coloured to grey" (201 )s' "r'm haunted by the idea that l've do ne something th'at wHI make everything turn out badly for everyone 1 k~ow. That l've done--no, seen--the wrbng things, or been the wrong p,erson. That l ~aven' t noticed enough. Or noticed the right things. That ,1 have to hold the world together with my eyes, and that l can't."(201) .\ In Sarah Bastard' s Notebook., Sarah Porlock i ~

pres~nted as an angry, defeated young wornan, obsessed with

the "dust and lShes" 5 \ of, her. personal reali ty J Of a sudden, seven ducks ..• everything goes up in smoke. Job, family, 'erotiko' and 'agapo·. beginning of a reputation. Here l stand, naked, if anyone had eyes to see, waiting for the evaluatorJ feeling, for that, almost nothing. ' Self-pi ty, perhaps,. as if the doctor had commanded a saI t-free diet. Simple, empty, ... \ wai ting for the new era ta b"egin. FinaI- ly satisfied to be alone? Finally free? (4) , j Her "world having burst into symbols" (JO). as a resul t of \ ;

the death of\her lather.and her disillus~~~~ent with her 1

job as an English professor at Saint Ardath t s College 1 she stresses the dissociated and fractured aspects of her identity through her desire to rechristen herself Sarah \ Bastard. Th~ mental marbles of my ~orniced shelves are formidable--Hopkins, Gide, ApOllinaire, Satre. and Beckett, Joyce, Eliot, HemingwaYr and Gertrude. 'Footsteps worth studying. But those of us who operate trom bastard territory, f disinherited countrles and traditions, long l' ~ 1 1 t\ , !. 1 \ ~... '''''''''.?'''''''''''' ______--'_._:M_~~'----~~------~--~_. J. f 25 .: always for, ~ur nonexistent mothers. For thi s reason, l deviled fi ve years--six? '1 when did l start? how rnany?--in the litera ture of Australians and Canapians. hoping to be the one to track her down. In the nineteenth century there were unashamed Colonials. In the twentieth a few geniuses, and a host of Sarahs looking for themsel ves 1 ,too lata firiding their modes and model s. (8) , ' In Joanne, f'he Last Days of a Modern Marriage, the protag\nist of the ti tle begins l\ler diary, which forms the substance of the novel. wi th the recogni tian that her marri age lB on the brink of collapse. For the past year, her husoand, , ~ , Bill, "has treated her w( th indifference or contempt, r~telY: \ spending time at home, nei ther talking nor sleeping wi th Joanne. "6 Demanding strict fideli ty fro~ her, he i s perpetua!- ~ \ \1 ' +y unfalthful himself. Realizing that divorce is inevi table, and that she will soon have only herself to rely on, Joanne c ' begips to assess her character and the ~uality of her life only to discover that she is "a trivial wornan,"? who has lived an unfulfilled existencel . What a waste of a,life. Eighteen years l've been married ta him. l've invested my whole emotional capj tal in him. and he hasn' t spoken to me for six' days. Every night he si ts downstal,rs wat~hin~ old movies on television ~ntil he thlnks l'm asleep. Then climbs into bed uttering 1l sighs that would outrank' Hamlet' s. if there were a sigh scale. l don' t know f why l put up with it. (2)

In ~, the protagonist. "whom we only ever know , , 6 - \ epicenlcally as 'Lou'." la introduced by an extended animal ~L \ simile emphaslzing the claustrophobie. and stifling aspects of \ her existence 1 , ; \ ( \ \'

...... ,. su _

26 , \ In the wi~ter,' ohe lived lik~ a mole, buried deep j n her office, digCing among mars and manuGcrip,ts. She lived close "ta her work" and shopped on the way between her apartment and the Institute, scurrying hastily throueh the tube of winter from refuge ~o refuge, w~sting no time. She did not like cold air on her j skin.9 l"

,1 Her refuge is the Hi:torical Insti tu~e, \'fhere as an archi-

, 1

vist, tt she collates ;md tabulates the detri tus of other p~OPle's lives and thoukhts.~10 Insulated with "books, wooden filing cabinets and very old. brown, framed photo- . / • graphs of unIikely people" (11) , tri via "which-,- she used to rernind herself that long ago the outside world had existed'~ (12). she, initially, had revelled "in the erudite seclusion of her\\ job" (19), in i ts "protection against the vulgari ties" (9) o;-Îffe. Eventually, howevèr. Lou realizes that "the ( sense of securi ty born of routine i8 an illusion," 11 anp. that, \ in effect, her l,if:1e -has become an absence of life. Like - . , Audrey, she notices that aspects.of her existence persist "in i turnine gray" (19) t she could ci te "nothine in parÜcular as a

problem J rather, i t was as if life in ,general had a çudge 1 ,t 1 against'her" (19). With the arrival of ~pring, comes the f f, recognition that her persistent attempts to abne~ate her l J 1 genuin~ self--"\the m'ole ... had been i~tended for an antelopf j

~ (12)--have failed. Insteadt it become~ an accusine shadow rerninding her of the soul-destroying nature of her existencet- , \ 1_ when the weather turned andl the sun filtered ,1 into aven her basement windows, when the 'sun- , beams were laden with spring dust and the old ( \ tin ashtrays began #to stink of a winter of (

------\'--~i-j- ! \ J .1__ 11111 ----- ...... --..:.' ...... -..'- ... ~--,~-- - 2 - • \

27 ,

nicotine and ~\~nternp:Latio~, the flaws in her , plodding'priva e world were made public, even ·1 to her. for al ~ough she loved old shabby thines. things tlhat had\ already been loved and suffered. o'lpjects with a past, V1h~n she saw th\at her arms were slug-pale and her fingertips gr~ined with old, old ink, that the detrit~s with which she 1 bedizene'd her bulletin boards 'was curled and \ valueless, when shè found that her eyes would 1 no longer focus in the,light, she was always

\\ ashame~. for the_image of the Good Life long , ago st~mped on her soul was ~uite different from ttlis. and she suffered ln contrast. (12) \ Through l, the use of metaphoric ,associations commen \ surate with their inner states. Enge~ effectively reinforces \ her protagonists' sense~of being confiryed within unsatisfac- tory and seeminglJ ali~n identities. For Sarah and Minn, the

heaviness of the}.r bodies f~nctions as a symbollc physical e. " eq~ivalent to their feelings of.entraprnentl the former "is lethargically overweight and heavy~bonedl"12 the latter His burdened by the flesh of an immense antl overQue foetûs,"l) \ which distorts her crody to recognizes it as her own. Defining presranc as nature's way of "pu11ing a fast one" (THF, J), Minn i s smi tten wi th the desire "to be quick again, dart like a dragon-fI y" (11)).

Vi~ualizing her life as "comicalry red~ced, sin a ch090late bar at a bus stop, adventure a forbidd~n bath" (3), she con- 1 r"'j cludes that captivity is tolerable ~~l~ ~hen it i9 comfortable (4L

Similarly, the stifling aspects of Aud~ey's existence find their physical equivalent in 'the "resigned and lazy" (OWS, 246-47) Greek Island, where the land "lies slack" (171) l, i: L , / '-- l'., . .. / ",

\ \ 0'

and wi thered in a state of .. suspended animation" (185). ( , 1 Here, there i5 no escape from the fIat light of.the su~, which -lays na calloused sole on the detri tus of empires"

(100), or from th~ "white, nitrous" (13~) heat, which "drips

like G~rup.. ( 1)7 ), o~ ~ ing fr\'m .. the crevic e s 0 f the stone \ step s ',from the armPi~S of the horned col umns" ( 1) 7) of the ", \ town' el bui~dings. \ \

F~nally, Lou' s "chained and repressed inner drive~"

her over-controlled and therefore crippled animal nature t "14 are mirrored. in ~h e bear pIao ed in her charge on Cary Island.

l wheré she spends the summer collectin~ historical information\

for the Institute. Just as she ls descri bed in terms of ~'f pressed anim~l imagery ~o emphasize her- denature'd. state, so is /~ he'viewed 'in mediocre human terrns to stress his condition as a misfit. Ta ~ou, the bear ls timid. and,unpreposse~sing, not "a creature of the wild, but a midctle-aged woman defeated to , the:, point of being daft" (!i. )6) l "a near-sighted baby placid- ly enjoying" (54) a swim. \"a lar~e-hipped woman dragging his bottorn oh the stones" {69~~ , In addition to îeelfng plagued and irnprisoned by a

fractured, dissociated sense of Jelf, a recurrent symptom suffered by Engel's protagonists focuses on their awar~ness v' o~ their identi ties as lacking in shar~ and coherent defini"1'

tion. Minn declares that'she h~f had "enoueh of sus~enBion"

(THF, l~7). For her, everythine i8 confused and îlaccld. The child îloats ( in i ts place ta, covered wi th meconium like 29

new white cheese, in a world \of Latins and specifies. Where are rny hard, dry surfaces? (47)

.• In a similar vein, S~rah consi~ers hers,lf ta be "a cynical, ~formless, immoral wretch" (§]1;!, J4), while Joanne likens her \.

state to that of "a transpa~ent ent'i ty, Mrs No-One" (!L,54), \ who needs to hold on to textures. To coJnteract thi~ con-. \ . dition, aB. three protago~iJ~~) reveal a marked tendency to J

rel y on the concrete. That is t~ say, they sustain their

fragil~ identities through the steady accumulation of an over-abundance of material objects. Accordlngly, Minn's 1ivingroom is congested with

furniture collect~~ annually from home~ odd ~ chairs and tables from\ the, SaI vation Army, half a dozen wicker pUmtstands containing dying aspidistras and ferns in the bay win-, \. dow; on the waJls, articles associatèè.with the lovers' game 'our past'. a case of sur gical instr~ments which had originally ••. prompt,ed them to go to ,bed. a r~w of covet-' \ J., able, childish wooden spoons, a~ad map of , Paris and a good one of Alexandria, a M~joli ! ca plate, a Portobello photographl nonsepse, . l all, but pleasing. (THF, 11). _

Sarah is "stuffed with possess~ons" (~, 139), things. which 1 she considers necessities, and which she acquires "as a boat 'i

,l 1 coilects barnacIes"- (140), tlthis littie print, that te'apot, two a~htrays, a mat, ring, shoe, clip, bookcase, letter open- 1 \ \ ,'- er, frame, basket, mas~, lampshade 1 p6stcard, ... " (140 J. \ Similarly, Joanne consols herself ~n her marriage wi th things.

l own 50 many things, BO many pointless things. Slips l never wear, ropes of beads l havent t put on for year\s, ol,d belts and bras and handkerchiefs l \

, 7 J E$ _

\ ,1 '>\ \

haven't had the he art ta throw out .... 1 have shoes the ,way cats have flens, l f have six pairs of sunglasses. l never realized l was 80 extravagant. It' s a kind of madne ss to have a11 those use less things., Six ~f everything that was in style in 1964, (~, 50-51) To further undermine the stabili ty or her protagonists'

, i identities, Engel'repeatedly stresses thelr excessive relianc~ on others to c01l'fplete and integrate their fragmented sense of- self. Minn wishes that her husband" Norman, who is in Nepal on a jour~alistic as~ignment, "would come home and make her , \ ,self real" (THF, 94). Yet, iron~cally, her depe~dence on

NOrn).an seems nebulous when compared to her fixation, wi th her / former and now dècease'd lover, Honeyman, "a fiftyish, ex ~: rode'o star turned film d.i"~ector," 15 whom S'he met in Pari s in , her youth. "He eventuallY\ 1eft ~her for another wornan, but ",

she has nev~r ,been ~b1e to \get ~is glamour out of her system,

something wh~ch makes het present dreary,domesticity ~ll the - harder ta take," 16 Ac,cordingly, she r;ega~ds Honeyman ~s a \ "dreadful addiction" (16), which she carries "always infide

her like a stone. like a calcifi~ embryo." (17). R~calling her emotions upon hearing of his impending marriage, she,

-~ descrlbes her reaction ta the news in terms of total disin-'t, tegration. the "f~eling. then, as il oQe's body la p1a8ter~

and'~lakes are' falling, falling and one i~,finally to become

~- the rusted, chipped maquette of a Giacometti" '( 16) , 1 - 1. ~ ,0 ~ \ Sarah evinces a similar reaction upo~ the, ,\break-up of ..,...... 1.- her long-term affair with' her Ita1ian,brother-in-law. Sandro. (:

• , 2 75 st st' b - , " ' ... " \

\.. l thought i t would be easier to see him go because we had reache.d the sta~e of' becom-:::' ing symbols for each other; but my .flesh , tore .... Copulati

1 wi th the capaci ty ,to reduce her to the levthl. of a: slave, '.~ ~~ "who lets go the stri~~fiI of her lire tao willingly" (157). The extent of her rel~i~nceQ on him' for personal integratioh i5 revealed by the fac:t that chis absence leaves her wi th "a

~ , few springEj" (137)" ahd a pervasi ve' sense of loss., Audrey displays a similar dependance on her English lover, Max, who ia unable to accompany her to Greeee. By

way H lett~rs, she repeatedly \entreats hini ;to come and help her build à composite view of" the i'sland. Paralyze,d

by the conjunction of' i-mages tha't constantly me et her gaze, , ' , " she wishes ta see the area from Ma~' s eyes, "which have

seen so much else\ bes i des" ( OWS, 39.)" H1S "~S a v~ew. \ that . Q , limi ta the circumference of oterni ty and comfort's" ,(47) her.

" When he eventuaI-+y dies of pneumonia in Scotland, she, like \ " . \ \ Mi'nn and Sarah, experiences a sense of dissociation emphasiz~ , 1

ing the fràctured' sta te of her identi ty 1 "1 Jm 'a person wJo. J ' o has. had a leg and an arm lopped off" (181). l The precarious nature of Joanne' s identi ty i s cle~ly

7 f' - fi' t a su iQj

1 \ 32 t ~ 4 ", evoked by her belief that Bill and her two ~hildre~' function f- '\ , ' c : ' as neces,sary complements her sense of self,_ To Joanne, . t , , to ) " . \ "1 not knowing wherê she stands 'wi th her husband amounts to not ,1 , ~ kno'wi,n~ who she 18 I~ny ~ore (!I, 7). Siml1arly, when her ~ ":-."'. dildren are abducted by her pretentious and domineer~ng , ' ~ " " t,, ,~ mother-in-law, Bertilla 1 she reflects that wi thout Andrew ", , l and Jennie, sh~ is "nothing ..•. My brains could be çoming out f or my ears anq l' wou'ld still stand here, made of' stone" (54-5). Lastly, t!le abject of Lou' s dependence is the estate ,.

bear, wi th, whom she believe 6 ~he i s indi ssolubly linked by a i sense of "fright and flight" (Ji, 64). Her desire to remain wi th the animal i's so overpowéring that i t undermines the \ sigrt,].ficance of everythihg unrelated te their irnmedi~te \" existenc~ togetherl \ She knew now tha t she loved him. She loved 1 him with such an extravagance that' the rest .1 of the world had turned into a tight rrléan ingless' knot, except, for try.e landscape, which remained outside' the~, neutral, having its own,orgasms of summer weather. (119) In view of Engel' s initial ipsistence on fragmentation, ailenatifpn and dissoc,iation as concepts integral to her por ,trayal of the self, i t readily follows that the séàr'ch for , self-reali~ation, 'f?r the sense of personal ,authentici ty and

integra~~on which i t implies t functions as a thematic concer~ , \, , basic to ~her literary vision. Accordingly. to reinforce the , , significanç:e of her 'protagoniste' repeated attempts, to dis-

cover and come to terms with who' they are. Enge~ makes ef

fecti ve use of the journey, a motifb which J in i te spatial ( . \\

...... j ...... -oIÛ-_' - -"- " - -~-.-~-- ~-~ ... ~""~,...... ------tt - - \ \ . \\

~~~~spects, inevitably occasions ~oth an examina ;. tion and assessme t of the self through i ts suggesti-on of .' , \ covering an exte ded period of time. Al though Engel varies type of journey employed in her delinea- \, tion of the of self-realization, the spatial and ,1 'J ..I..o"'':1"t:P''Urney s, bé they, 1Ised sepax:at~ly or _~her, ~f

~-----~--.- eveal certain as~€cts -of character. ~ecurring\ among the protagonists being disc\lsse,d,. which exert a profound in Q fluence on thek capaci ty for a fuller understanding and appreciation of who they are, This identical function ls !

signiflcant in itself for i t serves to reinforc~ the fact that, within the framework of Engel's fiction, there i6 no guarante'e that :the spatial and temporal journeys will, cul- j . \ minate in self-fulfillmen~1 in a higher leve+ of awareness wi thin whlch experience acq1.lire s deeper meanlngs.

Frequently, the spatial journey i6 instigated by an external circumstance or frisis, which acts as a catalyst " , o ' with a two-fold purpose, it forces the protagonist to con " -t'ront, seriously and fina11y, ,the limi ting and unsatisfy- \ , ing aspects, of her - existenQe-., the rea1iza~ion of which,' in turr1, resul ts in the need to ,l~ave her present, un6table situation~ a~d ta face the subsequent chhlenge\,of re-

> establishing hersel! i~ a-new envirorune~t. In Sarah' s case 1 ,. , an embarràssing newspaper interview, by intensify1ng her \ \ > \ - t;, . ~lready plrolongedawaren~'ss that she ié ill-sulted to life \ .

f in Tor

~ ... ,....

1 \- - Q

teaching post at Saint Ardath' s Collegel 1 Fat. self-pi ty, my 0"; unwashedness,'J nicotine, and beer, spawned words. Hated, because -femaIe, nonconformi st, se],.f-important, intellectual, free, fueking, undressed-gorgeous, too go~d for thi s place, here ... He wrote i t, all" aU down ... ,Serves you right,. Sarah, out of one 1 unwashed morning, ot,tt of an hour impati.e.nt.Jor L ,notori t~Y--havebecome this gross., pre- '''-- ______, .----::..t-e-n-tiOUs remale, able to announce the enor L_------~ mt,tYI you ar~ one of the few intellectuals in '{oronto. (SBNo' 22-23) Now viewing 'hèr books as a pretense, and the necesslty of ! , ' knowing as a dubious endeavour ()0-)1), Sarah feeis coropel- led to find a place where she belongs. Her final and ir- ! reversible ponclusion t~at Toronto ls a c':ll tural wasteland, offering little or no opportuni ty fo.r originali ty and individual growth, ls unequivocally expresse, .during her last meeting with her brother-in-law, Eldonl \

\ ft Something happens, .•. oOnce people settle down ,here,. The, edges are dulled--news takes a long time to come, and ceases to seern important. l t' s something in the, air-t and' perhaps a fundamental disbelief in 'temporal,' values. T\1e only literary thing which real-~" ly interests me 18 what ia happening to li ter \\ ature now; why peoble read what. But wè keep ourselves isoiated from--the passion of l, maki1'lg l,i terature--'from the passion of dis- , " \ cover;y. That' fi why we don't-1produce ,anything, And l want to produce, l want to get into ,a world where creat1on--creation of anything- is a fact, where ideas are, important. where people a1l:e toug~ on you •••• 60 that' s that. ") l 'm going." (127-28) , \

In One-Way Street, Audrey" 8 recognition that she "ha~" i~vested ten ylars in England" (18)" and both shé: a~d -E~l8.nd \ "we,re glad to ~ee t~e 'b.ck of each ~the~" (18 l', lB brou,!:!? " about by the arriv'al of a distress cable coneerning her "

y- ,,:-

, , ~I~~---'"

former husband' s precarious existence in Gree~e, and by ( her subsequent decision to travel to his aide \ Joanne' s awareness1 of her impending divorce being , '\ . , insufficient in i tself to force her out of a state of in-

ertia, i t takes the abduction of 'her children by her mother \ ' in-law, Berti~l~, ta make her s,eek, a more viable alternative , \ to Itfe in Toronto., Eventuâ.lly'relJIlited with th\em'lshe leaves the city and \takes up residence in a grey', dingy Ont~rio_ tO~1 where she a~tempts to create a reasonabl~ satisfying home life for Andrew and Jennie. Unlike the other protagonists, discussed above, who l' are compelled, by an external cri sis, to, fac e the short \ . comings emanating from their~ way of liÎe, Lou views the se ries of evènts leadine; to her journey to Cary Island as a means of evading certaj..n negati ve truths about her mode of

exi stance: Il

Tlhis year. however, she was- due to escape \ tne shaming moment of realization. The mo'le would not be forced to admit that i t had been intended for an antelope ~ The Director found her among her file sand \ rolled maps and, standi,ng solemnly under a ~o~ of family portraits •.. announced that the Cary estate had at last been set tled in favour of the Institute. (~, 12-1))

Yét, ,irémic~lly, her \nitial"establishment,on the island' - \ ~erves\only to intensify her feelings of lnadequacy and 10ss,' Oh, she was lonelg', inconsolably lohely; it , "\ was years sinee -she had had ~uman contact. Shé had always been bad at fiRding it. It" was as if men \knew,that her soul· was gan\gre 1. nou,s. Ideas w~~..Jlll_.'U~~ weIl, and she" coul.d hide in her work, forgetting for a "hile the 1( , '. r \ l, ' J \ "." J'~' _ IL )6 , ~ 'c )_

~/h _" . '~. real meaning of the l nsti tute, where the DÏlzector fucked her wcekly on her de sl< ., • She had allowed the procedure to continue beqause it was her only human contact, bu1 i t horrified her to think of , i t. There wa s no care in the act, 0'nly habi t and canvenience. l t had bec orne , something she was doing ta herseI!. (92-93) t:' Having been rnotivated, by one or more external events, to leave a situation marked by chaos or uncertainty, Engel's

protagonists reveal a marked ten~ncy to sustain the fractured h ,i ' (

nature of their lives previous ta the journey i tsel!. For tl')e 1 most part, they experience varying degrees of difficulty in \ . l ~:; coming ta terms wi th a new environment, and the spatlal jau:t:'ney, through. i ts illustration of this fact, serves to

- reveal, siMul 1 those aspects of' 'their . tanJb~SlY cha~ac~er,

which function a;s serio~s deterrents ta self-reali zatiotl. Frequently, a pervasive s~nse of dislac~tion impedes \ \ . \ ,. a protagon i st's attempts to order and ~ntegrate the various \ elements\ of h~r existence wi thin the conte~t of il' new environ ment. Joanne senses thatby coming away, she's "s~ipped out' l between, the lines of a speech someone was maklng" (.!:L,' 89)

,- about hef, life "and ruined the affect" (89). Formerly deter

mined and defined by hEir surroundings, ft smart Joanne, bright - \ -- ", as paint, escorted by h~dsome'~U6band and happy chlldren home te> stunning h~use" {84 Y, 2she has suddenly become "~\iz . \ Laurence, secretJ\ at Birmingh'am. sèhool, tenant of R. J • \ .... \ MCTavish' s famous garden f~at" (84), and finds it difficult \\ to Jdjust to thls unexpected redefinitibn of her self. \.

In One~Way Street, Audrey's finan~lal instabillty, (

\ \ -..z1 • . - . ,, j7

coupled wi th her alienation from the local inhabi tants of t thJ Greek island, leads her to regard her decision to c~

to her former husband' s aid as a foolis~ and compulsive actl

W~n l am sitting here with him Iike this ,_y fèel my own invasion; ... l am not need- ,ed, there is no dÏre distress. He is poor, ' certainly, and ronely, but no poorer and no lonelier than l was sometimes inr 'London. l feel a big blank between us and [the disgrace " \ fu1 knowledge that he has amputated his social life because l am here. l should not have ~ome. (26) . \ \Rather, than use her new surroundin~s as Jan oPPof~uni t; to

~ . \ gain fresh insights into ,who sh-e is, Audrey spends her time

in dl f3 sipation, dwelling on the fact that there is absolutelyoiJ'o nothrng for her to do (J6). "Sucked thrO~gh the airless

\ channels of the streets like,change\in a ha~dware store" (162), she feels th~t, with the exception of herse~~, "everyone has sorne kind of intimate conqern; (186) arou~e isiand, and ls haunted by the idea that she ls not learning enoughl "1 , {', - should be sitting at the fe et of the 9irector o'f the Museum.

Instead, having'hit my own level, ,1 swim in the vast tank of 1 popular \mi sinformation available to me" (106). \ \ :in addition to being plagued by feelings of disloca

tion, thos~ protagoniste wh~ embark on a spatial journey,are \ Cl.. ' \ further deterredl in their efforts to'achieve self-realization '

by a sen~e of diffusion emanating fro~ the awareness of the~r lives as lacking in any ascertainable direction or _goal. AI 1 though Sarah' s abrupt decieion to settle in r40ntreal oceurs l ; ,i . rather late in the novel, her premonition that she is \ \

1 1 ! ~. Li , \ - -

f "t~bogganing to obli vion" (SBN, 177) leads one to believe that -- her capacity for successful accommodation within a new environ- l, ment i8 nebulous. As she her~elf states. "50 l wrs off and 90 what was l going to do?" (13)). In Bear, Lou's constant questioning of ,the validity of \' her existence inhibi ts her ablli ty to integrate the' fragmented aspects of her identi ty 1

\ ' She was given ta crises of faith ... ~ \ Usually these q,uandarles arose weeks ,1\ after the beginning of an absorbing assign ment. but this one had set in early, just ' " after she had established her working pat-' terns. She understood technically and even emotionally the,need to redefine objectives, but sne could not understand why the period of redefinition had to b~ accompanied by de- pression, an existential screaming inside \~ herself, and a raucous interi~r voiee that questioned not the project she was working \ on. but her own self. "What am l doing , here?W she would ask herself, and the interi " or volee would· echo, '''Who the hell do you '

her Itfe which fills her "with a of the usel nss- l' ,

1 nese of any human endeavourlt (J. 87). con~elllplat ng the series . - '"\ of events that culminated in her decision ta move a y from i' Toronto. she realizes that things are no longer "cleàr as

lcrystal" (84), 1

\ au U

, , !

39 (

Things seem easy, unless you' re doine them. You can plan to fly straight as ( an arrow, and then you (rul'\ into Zeno' s' arrow, which, if l remember i t, pr~ved that flight was not straights a knotty , simple. (84) , , 1 1 1 Through the use of eye and camera imagery. Engei

effecti vely r~inforçes Audrey' s situation in Greece as Iack ing in clear orientation and purpose. Initially convinced that the ïsiand i8 smaii enough to be explorabl~. she begins

"ta want badly to ~now it, and in that intimate way which 1 consumes time, perhaps lifetime" (OWS, 42). Yet. shortIy after her-. arrivaI, she discovers that, in reali ty. i t lB immense. Paralyzed by the "shocking clatter of impressions" '''\ (81), by the "stupefying richness" (164) l,of "undigestible \ " images" (42)., Audrey i6 rendered incapable of seeing any-

\ thilig "bèyond her own wearine'ss (164). Her local, lover,' who 8eems more "llke a Frenchman" (147) than a native of the

island itseIf, ~~ts as a further impediment to her full ap preciation of the area. As one of her acquaintances so aptly 1 state SI" Xantho sis too ref ine d .... You wil\1 ne"er know the \' \. island through him" (141). Viewing herself as "one of those 1 opaque lady travellers :.. who sees, but does not und er

stand" (237), Audrey ls haunted by the idea that she has' \ 1 \ 1 ft fussed about with the surface lof things" (2)9) J 1 l have travelled and seen nothing, ,list'ened, and heard nothing, The , lenses and membranes are fitted 1 wrong, they're the wrong brand, no, .. Ah, SOI it's not that ,one doesn't understand.> It is that one does not want to understand. (2)8) ( \

\ • • \

, Having failed in her attempt ~to reach the essence of the , 0

island' s mysteries, Audrey "comes to nothing more than the" Il half-hearted reafization that it's(time to go, ". time~ return to nothing in England."17 \ If "sty~e and method evaluate ~e experience"l~ being

communicated, then Engel's elimination of "çer~~in devices

and patterns which have been the ~keletal bones of tradition

~ al narrative 1,1 terature--exposi tory structure, climaxes._ 19\ . turning points, and symmetrical plots" --functions as a valid and forceful.equivalent to the confusion suffered by

her prota~onists in a new environment; In Joanne and ~ne

. \ Way Street, the form i8 not onl~ episodic, but fragmentary. , Throughout both novels, one finds diary Elntries interspersed with haphazard observations and ,random notes, "oblique scrib- , bles in the margins of life, aIl of which serve to emphasi'ze the chaotic ... nature,,20 of Jo~ne'~ and Audrey's mode of existence. . Whether or not it aCbompanies the physical movement ( brought about by the spatial_journey, the temporal journey,

previously defined a~ a backward movement to various past

experiences, particularly reveals the nee~ for personal self

ev~luation in order to integrate the fractur\~ and confl~ct ing aspects of one's identity. Like most contemporary litera

ture, Engel's fiction, takes a small ~cope.21 Basic~llY in- trospective in nature. each novel focuses on the interior ) "landscape of one major character. "action is accorded a fi" i ~ ( f,

("",î: ~ ( \ \ \ u Q \

\ subsidiary role as the externalisation of inner mottves, ( \ not\always conscious •... assumes a correspondirtgly greater pro,m~nence>"22 Through the use o~ the diar) or journal as , a mànife station of modern man 1 S i:endency 'to turn inIVard upon himself23 to discover wh~ he i'B, and the use of the 1 first-pe'rson point of view, which i!': bas1c;ally retrospecti.ve ln• nature,1 24 Enge- 1 lllustrates . her awareness of the / twentieth-century notion of time. particularly time past, as in separable from the concept of the self: What we çall the self, person, or 1n- di vidual i8 e~perienced and knowri only against the background of the succession of temroral moments and changes can ntitutlng his biography .... The question, what i8 man 1 therefare invariably r~fers ta the quention of what i6 time. Th~ quest for a clarification of the self 5 leads ta a 'recherche du temps perdu,.2 Thus , within the context of the temporal journey, the key to the quest for self-realizat,ion is rnemory. Yet, paradoxically. \ what memory reveals about the attitudes of Engel's protagonists to their individual pasts simultaneously reveals those as \ \ pects of their character which function as dr~wbacks ta a fuller understanding of the seif. It is cleaq, therefore,

that En,l' e usé of th~ temp,oral journey mirrore her use of the spatial journey. By employing both\to illustrate the \ obstacles to self-realization, she effectively reinforces

the fact that the journey, be i~ moveme~t through space or movement through time, does,not necessarily guarantee a

positive outcome in terme of an integrated and well-forrnu ;~ { lated defini tion of the self. L 1 \ \ l ~--I"",------_....p ----'--~--~ 42

1 Through\its' emphasis on Engel's protagonists as victimized by, and obsessed wi th, "the heathen blanke~ of southern Ontario guil t" (THF, 14) emanating from their

puritanical upbringines, the ~emporal journey demonstra~es what may be viewed as one of the most significant deterrents ta ..self-realiza~ionJ the in~bility to gain a full apprehe.nsfon and proportien-ate weight of one' s past. present and i~~ur~. 26 In The Honeyman FestivaL, Minn' s hometown of . '- Godwin is presented as one ot the last bastions of Vic~orian l morality. Through the use of repeated flashbacks, one is

made aware of her ea~lier efforts te escape from its rigid

grasp by, trav~lling to Europe where she becornes invol ved wi th Ho'rleyman, a father-figure "cho sen instead of impo sed, who knew the things she wanted to know and taught her them" ,(14). Eventually, however, their five-year affair ends in \ her' abandonment. and at the start of the novel, Minn ls back \ in\Ca~ada attempting to come \ to terrns Il wi th the l internalized demands and taboos of her ancestors. ,,27 The extent of her

fixation with Godwin is unmistakably evoked during the course •~ 1 l \ \ '~f the party she i s gi ving ta ~ano~r Honeymr' s aChi\vements i

~s a film director. how odd it was that tonight when she mieht legitimately have taken herself upstairs with a bottle of Scotch to gruel over memo ries of Honeyman until his festival began, the sound-and-light show of her subconscious sent flickering across her vacant mind the images of Godwin a~ if it were the only frame of reference she had ever known. She thought she had made her reckoning with the place i, ' (, \ J ! , i \ \ \ 1 '1

~I 4) / years"ago, but here in her vulnerable hour i t rose before her àgain, m.ore real and \ ~' 1 larger than ever befo~e, like a movie ... (40)

Despite Minn's vivid aw~reness of Godwin's stifling sexuality

and emotional harshness, she has "an obscure fidelity to the

place, and a viscid, always unsatis{ied desire to feel Iove~,

to be thou(;ht good U (69) by her- mother. Gertrude, "a corseted,

rigid" sttong.. willed matron." 281 who lives ~cording to nine- \ teenth .. century principle s. This neèd for uncri tieal accept- ance i8 further intensified by Minn's recognition of her \present situation as laeking \i~ any well-defined meaning or 1 directi0111 "If you don't k~ow how \ta make a new world, you

" fall back on t~e 'glow,of the old one" (41). Predictably, . \ she unconsciously adopts those very att~tudes of her rnother's gene'fatio'n which she herself found repulsive as· a chlldl

believing that "it's decenter to be,indefinite" (45), s~e scolds her children for using "dirty words" (45), and'humili- 1 ates them ftby title and tone of voiee" ~50). Oscillatlng between' rebeilion and admiration--Minn upholds that today's

~e rnothers should 1 more like Gertrude (130)--she 16 rendered completely inca*able of placi~ her past in its proper 1 perspectivel

One Vloulfd like the night of the Honeyman festivaI ta be a dark night of the soul for \ Minn, one where the past isused ta grasp the fut~re ,and then forgotten or gently laid asidc. 1 But the rnernQtit!LQÎ-.Gerttude ov.e.r------~··~---~-"T.;.,.I shadQW/M1nn' G own maternaI in'stincts and 'the ~ :\

) Kouse ,in Godwin is more meaningful than the . • ~ one in Toronto. In .fact, the Torontf' home, w~ th. i te soiled dia1rSII dirty floors, and , . hlpple-rented attic Baumes a dream-like \ .. \ 1 \ \ ,\ . 44

quali ty totally unli~e Godwin' s harsh rea1ism. No decisions are made on this 9ight and Minn i8 1eft in pregnant limbo wait~ng for Norman's return. 29 / '1. \ ./ Sarah • s reactions to her past are remarkab1y sirnilar to Minn's. Describing nerself as a puri tan wno is ùsed to ,shame (âlili. 136), she attributes her pervasive sense of dislocation in time (121) to the fact \hat her family " \ li ved in a world as personal and physical as f J a Victorian p~rlour. The cultur-e gap had not shut far enough to let Canada be in any way "modern" wi thout guil t, and we were far~her from the present than most of our friends, ~ .. It is, in fact, 'Henry Miller' s turn-of-the c~ntuz.-Y childhood l share more than my con temporaries', the breathy snug shabbiness on ao piano bench wi th fat music teachers who s el1 of hair oil; we had antimacassars and ; ecause the King had on1y rive inches of water in his bath, we were washed down in a \ ,tepid iron sink, our house had a raal Eng-. 1ish scullery and a real English chilI: Flan nel bloomers, cotton waists, b~ys in breèks, \ and a perversf aùra of sex in everythingl srout,· and the aromatic unknown, and aIl the wordà for it Anglo-Saxon and onomatopoeic. (e7) Ip a futile 'attempt to exorcise her dismal past, Sarah a1so flees\ to Europ~. Here, she has an intense' af'fair wi th her

Italian brother-in-law, Sandrol a rom~nti~ invQlvement that leads "not to freedom but ta an unsettling abortion,II)O and , . \ ~ her retreat to Toronto, -where she feels "the seed of the \ ancestoré" (96} descending upon her, their "machine guns \ '" "~, loaded with rosealt (96). Like Minn, Sarah has \ta love .. .. hat strings" (88). which resul ts in her .t:requent vacillation • between the desire for rebellion and the need for approval. \ \

.• \ This ambiyalent condition is effectively reinforced durlng one of Sarah's numerous mental lectures on self-improvement. Ini tially. she instructs' herself to stop mewling kround, ... P'orget the ç,orpulent past, move out, move on, ... Why moan, mourn, or remember: why warm yourself wi th the faggots of gossipy asides? ... Remembering is mastur bating, Stick the past in the ground, keep your; memories, chilI and stylized. start again, afresh, a-roving. (137-)8) Yet, shortly after making this new resolution, 'she reflects. "1 don' t want to part l'Ii th any one stone l carry round rny thick neck. Not a mêmory, not an artifact" (139). Sarah' s

\ final inability ta raach any dècisive conclusions concerning her to her past serves only to aggravatè \;he' sense : rel~tion , , " \ "' of meaninglessness and di(fUsi~n permeating het present. As

she herself, statesi "Speak to me not of Anglo-Saxons- and thé \ rniddle class, for there l, unhappi1y, but increasing1y, be \ long" (69). In One-Way Street. Audrey experiences a c'onflict 1 "J \ '"between her puritan~Cal her~tage and the rela~ed sensual~t; of the Mediterranean,nJl where "the bellowing of the b1ood"

(237) i s more real than ,sh~ was taught to think 1

l fee~ like making love. that's what it 18. 1 l've felt like that aIl the time" ever sinee f the weather got hot r it's.as if someone had put something legendary lnto my food ..•• I never ,fel t that way in England. It scares Pur i tan hel1 out of me. (122) 1 \ ~~--~~----,--~~~-ror mysterioUB reasons. Audrey is prevented from leaving

\ h~r r~~m by the extended presence of an old woman ululating

! • outside h~r door. she experie~ces'"an a~ful~ withering l k- \ 4() guil tH (139). Viewing the strange f\gUre as a' "wi tch escaped ( from a fairy tale, one's sleazy conscience corne to life" ( 138) ,

she regards her confinement ~s justifiable penance for her "

numerous sins 1 1 hav~, after aIl, been dining out with someo~e else's husband--fouled the nest of Efy's rnother, gorged rnyself on the profits of another haus~~ hold. 1 have, to put it po~itely, dallied with Maro~s man: my desires have been vast. l have read without close attention to the text, and neglected my share of household duties. 1 have indulged myself in spiritous liquors, wasted rnoney on cigarettes, committed, in short, the usual thousand sins a day •.•. 1 feit l'd earned' her. (lJ9) \ In addition ta her obsession with guilt, Audrey 18 hampered ._ in her efforts to construct the elements of hfr life into a "

coherent pattern by thé fact t~at she i5 forced, due to finan cial instability, to live with her former husband, Laddie, As " " she informs her lover,.XanthoBI "it's hard to live with a

consistent remind~riof.one's failure, of the pa st ." of that . . particularly idiotie, hopeful marriage" (202), The extent of

\ ~ • •• \ .L i .. Audr~y's lnablilty to come to~erms w th her prevlous mlS-

takes is clearly revea1~d in a fl~shbaek dè'aling wi th her , wedding day, Recalling the details of the ceremony, ~he o refers to herself in the third persan, thereby emphasizing'

her desire to be eompletely disBociated fr~m the e~entl .. ,/ ! ~ , ~e were ma~ried fourteen years ago today in " H~mp~tead Register Office, herself in a suit " , fr'bm D' Allalrds in Hamilton ,. " Wi tne SBe s were p Rosa Trethewey Moore, ,t, and Henry Ne~ant \ After tne wedding, whieh was dignifie_4. if , ,j brief ... ~he .boys had a rehearsal and herself , j / • v and ROBa went to Selfridges to shop fQr curtain , ... material. (8)) " ( \ .~ ,,

, t y-==' \ '. fi; \ .\ .. ) 47 \. / \..~~ " Havihg been f'oolish once, Audrey "has fe1 t Nictimised ever \ (. sinee" ~)'. old.attltudes hanging around her "like shrouds " on a clothe~line", (28). Joanne i6 aiso weighed down by a stron& sense of guilt .. ,.'" emanating from her highly orde~ed and repressive upbringing. , ,~ , ~r Raised, sinee the a&e ~f' fi ve, by her UneJ.e. Stanley, a uni > versity professor, and her Aunt Frieda, a confirmed Trotskyite,

she views herseI! as the inevitab1e prod~ct of their "political , puritanism" (J, 81), and the "vigorously punitLve" (79) schoo1 T! methods she was. forced to sUQmi~t to ~!i a child,1 .. '!?: Schools like this were arranged to teaeh chi1dre~ they were small, and unworthy, as if the~ did not already know that. Here, the consequ~nces of bad behaviour were swift and inevitabYe, 'teaching the little ones that it was useless toJrebel .... when l was a chi1d the'who1e school set~p wa~ still Dickensian .... our exercise books were terra-eotta coloured and rnargined with the virtuesl BE, they read in heavy black lettera, AMBITIOUS BRAVE CAUTIOUS DEXTROUS ~FFICIENT FRIENDLY GODLY etc. l can't remember thern all, but if you took them\ seriously, ,those \Yords were an awful burden. We a1so had Scripture in school ••• * was indoctril'lat·ed by te"acheI's in the\ pr~cedures of a good Christian citizen. l' 'learnêd not to lay \ treasures up on earth, ". and not to ha~e two coats. Also, that vanity was ba~, ••. \ , " . Like a eood child, 1 took this aIl very $eriously.rJ l think, on the whole, i t has affect ad my lita"prOfOUndly, •.• it prevented me from en ~oying m y of the experiences that were paramount r~~my re ationship with Bill .•• ,I couldn't ~Joy \ 0 >-~iViÎ'lg-é~cktail parties, because. l didn·t b'ë.l.~'eve \ ,'. in cocktail parties.· - His show-business friends " ( lived sa far from the virtues outlined onschool \ t exercise books that they were for me beyond the \, pale. (80-82) , ! . - , ; , Al thougJ:t \ Joanne vie,ws hér obsession wi th the paat as a bur 1 " ,den (133),' she has never been able' ta get the disèiplined " .

" . , ,

." 48

systeml \ i~ l haven' t really come to terms wi'th Fr ieda yet. Mt \, l have the most immense admiration for that generation of women who were totally dedicated to making a better "",,orId. Whenr was smail and \ scared. after l first came t~ her, she nursed me like a baby.

" 'She ran her nouse wonderfully:well, ..• and was, in fact ,\ an exemplary woman., Like a lot of women in her generation she thought that sex and beer parlours wer~ o •• for. weaklings .•.• She wore her skirts shin-lengt~ all her life, whatever the fashion was , and wove the material herself on a handloom. 1 Uncle Stanley' s view of the Demon Rum " was that anything the government made so much . profit on couldn't be al1 good. 1108-9)

It wou1d seern, t~en. that the pa~~ern of Joanne's 'life creates l ' a ci~clel sensing that she lacks those qua1i~ies needed to live \up to Stanley's and Frieda's standards, she st~ll persists in

evaluating the outcome of her endeavours âccordlng to ~eir \ , \\ \ \ n0J:'m~. C,aught in their colleè'tive power, "she' a~ks attention.

for'he~ ineptitudes and thus commits herself more firmly to ,the~. ")~ \ , p\aeued by the conflfct between the demande of their \ pr.esent circumstances and the di~tates of t~eir indi vidua~ past s, i t i s ~1 ear 'hat t,he maj or\ty of Engel' s pr~:)'tagoni st S\ ,

1 suffer from lia division between their conscious aspir:ations and their unconsc+ou9>.convictions, which undermines their

\ o

livès and le'ads to -,'the "-development of a profoundly ne.gative outlook.")) Alternately repulsed by, ~~ obsesse~ with, the values of their ~esiors,.. they are thus rendered 1n- \ capa.~le of fully ~ealizing th\'ir uniquen~ss\ ~s individual,s. \" . and reveal a marked tende~cy towards ~naction by escap~ng , \. c \

\ .\ . ------~- -_-=:".- - =

,1 \ \ into illus~ry s.i tuations as a remedy for banali ty and . \ l' ( \ \ confusion. Joanne admi ts that she "never re\ally cared f~r that "face the facts" argument .... You have to slide sort of l'! 1 sideways Ï!nto them. Head on ls to~ depressing" (~, 35). ~ llthoukh Minn realizes that the "mind has molehills and they \ \ \ 6' le~d ta tunnel s of eseape"\ (THF 1 9 ) ( she persi,sts in telling

herself Itegd-stories ~ntt1 t~e conseie~,e~, reels" (113), a~d

\ postpones. rea~U.ng anything that will" interfere wi th her

~ attempts to maintain a poetic view of life" (126). In spi~e

J ~f Sarah's desire to keep her "eye ~n the main thing" (~~ 155), she continues to "~an~a~ize without facts" (135), and d:scri~es hersel,f as the .. fOUnd~ng member.... of Euphoria" (152), where ~he , eitize~s .,..,\ . \ , rlse late and dream of islands, hav~ no hobbies, rather, practice being generally , manie or necessarily depressi ve J their ' bawdiness 16 ~genteel and hygienic·, in fact, literary. They spen~ time chooslng proper . political views b~t take no actio~1 erijoy self-analysis, worshi~ the greenhouse in ,Allan Gardens a'nd visl. t i t oJ'l,. winter nights' when scrofulous reality i8 broken to reveal " essentlals in the snow. Their motto 15 "Only One I?asket ,for Eggs." They are 'the new, or the perennial, Peter Pans. (151 14 52) \ In view 01\ the preç\ding analY,~is, it la evident that,' within the, context of Engel's fiction, the movement towards \ \ \ - self-realization Js never straightforward or certain. Having delineàted, through her use of the spatial and ,temporal Journeys, 'the vkrious problems emanating from the attempt to gain a fuller

! a:e.prehension of the 'self, con,si deration will now be gi ven to ) \ ~ \, those protagonists who~do indeed achieve self-realization, a ( \

-, \ -

, \ \ \ \ 50 , \ . sta te D'! p~r sonal aU~h'~ntic~\i .and integration m"ànifested: ( through the psychological journey.

o \

~ '- \ ~", '\'",? " \ ( . '%

" -, , ~

"'\

"' '0 .'

~ F. \ --..: . , " :<-; \~ f; !: ' \ t (, , \ \ , \' \

"\ ';" \ \ \ , , ,C' \ '.

,.\ 1 1 "\ \ "' • il 1\ -:.,1

\ ' \ , \

, , , 51 "~ ( , { \ ; J ~ \ t \ FOOTNOTES 1 CHAP.TE'R II

... ' 1 Joan Harcourt, "Marian Engel. The Honeyman Festival,·

2Marian Engel, The Honeuman Festival (Torontol House 'Of Anansi Press Ltd., 1970), p. 25. AlI subsequent page references to this editlon are given in parentheses after the quotations las they appear in t.he text. " \ When necessary ~o identify from w~iCh novel,a quotation ls ta~. the following abb~eviatlons, will be used THFI The Honeyman Festival OWSI One-Way Street \ S'ENI Sarah Bastard's Notebook Ji Joanne. The Last Days of a Modern Marriage ~I ~

4 - ~- Marian Engel, One-Way Street, 2nd ed. (Don Millss

1 PaperJacks, 1974). p. 1gb. AlI < sUbsequent page references tlD '\ this edi tion are gi ven '1n parentheses after the quotations aiS \ the y appear in the texte < \

\ < 5Marian Engel, Sarah Bastard' s otebook~ 2nd ed. (Don Millst PaperJacks, 197 , p. • AlI subsequent page r~~ erehces to this edition are given in parentheses after the quotations as they appear in the texte

6Laurie Bagley, "Joanne by Marian Engel." Room of One's Ownt A Feminist Journal of Literature and Criticism, 1, No. 2 • (Summer, 1975), p. 74. t

7Marlan Engel, Joanne. The'Last Da s of a Modern Mar~ \ ri age (Don Millst PaperJacks, 197 , p. 27. All subsequent . page references to this edition are given in parenthèses after the quotatJons as they appear in the texte _

p. 8Michael Taylor,' "Bear, Marian Engel," The Fiddlehead, " No. 110 (Summer, 1976), p. 127. ( \ , 1

\ \ , / \ -

52 \ \ )

9Marian Engel, Bear (Toronto 1 McClelland andGtewart Ltd., 197~~, p. 11. AlI subsequent page r ferences '-ta this \ édition aLf given in parenthes~s after the quotations'~ they appear in the text. , ' Il ... ) \ / 10Adele Wiseman, "Pooh at Pub~rty,1I Bo ânadal A National Revi~w of Books, 5, No. 4 (Apri~l~,~~rr,~p~.~~ ,, llCharles 1. Glicksberg, The Ironie Vision in Modern ~iterature ,(The Hague. Martin1fs Nijhoff, 19'69), p. 226. .." \ \_,

l)Ibid.

- ~ 14wiseman,2.:2' c~'1., p. 7. \ \ "\... . l , \ ( "'J.5Andy Wain'9l'ight, "Beyo~d Wornen t S Li\b." Saturday Night. 85 (October, 1970). p. )4. , , \ . 16phyllis Grosskurth, "Trapped in a Biological" Bath tub," The Globe and Mail Magazine, Dec. '5, 1970, p. 20. l 17Margaret Ho~an, "South windy ,·. Books in Canada. A i ' . Na,tion. Review 9{ Dooks, 2, No. 4 (~ctober'i 197), p\ 10.

18Mark '''Technique as in James E. SCho~er, Discover~", ~ \ \ Miller, (Ed.), M th and Method. Modern Theories of Fiction \ (Nebraskaa Universlty of Nebras a Press, 19 0 , p. 99.

. 19Richard Kostelanetz., ';~ontemporary Li ~erat'~Je," in Richard Kostelanetz, (Ed.), On Contemporary Literature' (New York. Avon Books, 1964), p. xxii.

20peter Buitenhuis, "Brilliant Pastiches in Search of a Meanlng," The Globe and Mail, Saturday, Nov. 10, -1973, p. )2.

, 21Kingsley Widmer. The Li terary Rebel (Carbondale and Edwardsvillel Southern IllinoIs University Press, 1965). p. 124. , , \ . \ .. 22A. A. Mendilow. Time and thè Novel, lntro. by J. IsaacB \ (New Yorkl Humanities Pres~, 19b5), p. J8. 1 1 , 1 (

";~;;"";;;;i*;;ii;;;;î*iiii;! ;;;;;.;.,...; .•• ..;:.,..;.' .... *...:....:.".:- .... ="-.--"-~,:,, ~ • .. \ .r 4 2 \

' . " , \-' ~JBertil Romberg, studies in the Narrativè' Tee ni ue of the First-Person Nove Lundi Hakan Ohlssons Boktrrckeri, 1962)', p. 44. \ 1 24Mendilow, .2l?,. ci t., P\ 106.'

( 25Hans Meyerhoff, Time in Literature (Berkeley and Los Angeles • University of California Press. 1968). p. 2.

26Edmund Fuller" Man in Modern Fiction (New Yorkl \ Random House, Inc .• 19"68). p. 163. , \, " 27Margaret Atwood, Survi val, A Thematic GUld to ." Canadian Li terature (Toron;j;o s House pf Anansi' Pres G Ltd. , 1972), p. 139. ' . . l '\l 28ill.!!.

29wai~wright, .2,P.. cit.,. p. 35. " \ \ JO Da~ey, ~. cit~, p. 99. 1 3 Ib'id. , p. 100.

32patricia Meyer Spacks, The Female Imagination (New York. Avon Books, 1975),' p. 282. \

Rock. Ima es in Canadian' . Toronto Press. 1970 p. 14. \

\ '

\ "t \ , j t '\ \ \ 11\ \ CI \' \\ \ \ 0, \ , , /\ '0 1 .. C 4

\ \

( , CHAPTER III

ù THE: PSYCHOLOGICAL JOURllEY \AS AN INDICATION OF SELF-REALIZA!TION \

The relevance of the psychologic~l journey to self

realizat~on becomes readily apparent if one considers its definition as the movement towards an integrated and well formulated assessment of the self involying, esscntially, \ a process of mental readjustment to both the circumstances making up one' s present situation and a new environment. The implications 'of this definition are two-fold, suef,esting, firstly, that \Wi thin Eneel' s lite~ar; framework, the PS~ChO-

logical journey i6 alway~ associated with the physical movement occasioned by a spatial journey, and, secondly, r that it is founded on the notion of order, and on the increas- ., i \ ' ing awarene8S of the means by which arder can be ineorporated into one' S, DV{!l existence. The significance of the concept t of arder in, relation to the psychologieal journey resides \ \ in its function as a prerequisite to self-realizçtion. In v other" words. the emergence of a coherent and satisfyine \ - .. assessment of the self 18 contingent on the ability ta in tegrate the fragmented and canflictJng aspects of one' s life

into a harmonious whole. In this way. the desir~ for order

thus becomes nynonymou6 with the d~sire for nel~-re81izRtion.

AU fi ve of Ene;el\, s protagoni sts ~xhi bi t J ei ther ex plicitly through direct statement, or implicitly throuch their tendency to foeus on the orderi\g of externals, a pervasive ( 54

, \

l.. . & - -

\ \ \ 55

\ <

( longing for a mode of existence characterized by uoity ~nd cahesio'rp Sarah declares that she wants "to lead an ordered and abstract life" (SBN, 137), Audrey repeatedly attempts ta organize the chaotic welter of the Greek island's images

and impressions into a meaningf~l pattern, Joanne conscien- 1 tiously records<. in diary or journal farm, her reactions to -, the events taking place in her life in an ~ffort to cat- egorize her experiences and evaluate their meaning, Lou

considers herself tobe a "virtuous and effici~nt" (B, 42) , ~ - archivlst dedicated ~o "the imperious business of imposing

numeri:lcal order" (42) on the historical data related to the Cary estate, and, 'lastly, Minn'e obsession with the upkeep . ~ of her ramshackle, oversized, Victorian home, and her final inability to keep its fourteen rooms under\her control are \\ 1 1 reinforced by a dream concerning her arrest by the "Domes i.- tic MOfa1ity Squad" (THY, 92) for inhabiting \ a pig-sty, Samples of dirt on upstairs \ windowpanes were found by Squad inspectors ta contain jam, plasticene, Cheez-Whiz, pea- nut butter andhuman excrement, and there was.a pubie hair in the ba~htub. A garbage bag ~as overturned on the kltchen floor and ther~ 'Ras 'evidence that one child had been' eating a mixture whieh contained honey and \ hair" ... In Magistrate's Court next morning, \ Mrs Burge said that she would try to do better. (92-93) That the desire for order le lntegra11y connected

ri th \the concept of self-r~al,iz§.tlon is further emphaslzed

by the tact that the psyeh~loglcal journey always oeeurs '\ { wlthi,n the context of a spatial.J0urney. A.s previously <

\ \ \, \ - •

~eîineated.l ,the spatial journey 18 frequently instigated ( , ·' by an external circumstance or criais which ,impelots a pro , tag~nist to leave a situatioh marked bY uncertai~ty. and (t~bli~h herseH in a ~ew environment. Moreover •. \ the way in whlch a protagonist reac~ to the crieis itse1f defines the spatial journey in'one of' two ways, either as \ the mean~ of evadingl certain truths ab~ut the quali ty of her existence, or as the culmination of a deliberate plan • > to deal with the chao tic nature of her affairs. If the

former, the spatial journey eventually impresses upon~the mind of the protagonist. the confused and shallow nature of her life, the awareness of which, in turn, results in an

overwhelming need for personal authenticlty, and integration. This series of events la especially evident in the case\of Lou, whose establishment on Cary island lead~ her ta d~ubt'

'/ the ~sefulnes8 of her ocèupatlon as a bibliographert Here, ... she could not justify herself. What was the use of aIl these cards and details and orderings? In the beginrilng, they had seemed beautiful, capable of mak ing an order of their own, capable of be ing in the end flled and sorted sa that she could find a structure, plumb a secret. ~ow, they fi1led her wi th guil t; •.. They were a heresy against the real truth .••. She went upstairs again \and went '\ through the cards she had made. 1••• l t was '" (' \ too 'early "in her research. to gi ve them. _ / any meaning, and perhaps they would never have any meaning. She fel t like some French -noveliat who, having discarded plot and character, wàs 1eft to build an abstract 1 -,structure, and was too trad1tion-bound to do , so. She felt weak, unable to free herself '" from the conorete. She flew into dÎstemper ,- when she tried' to tly into ideas. (~, 8)-84) ( \

1 \

er .. en' , 7 Tia! -à 'éVP??eR5 'd9arrba ;w;:r ~~ t"""ihAA4 "-,._L - , .

• 57 , \ ,1 . , , If, on the other hand,'the spatial jo~rney is con- i , 1 sidered as part of ~ conscious effort ta alleviate the '1 .. ;1 ..\ instability ~ttenditg one's pre~ent circumstances, ~hen • i it functions as a d,cisive movement. on the part 'of the i, protagonist: toward1 order and coherence. Sùch a propen \. 1 si ty i S ,revealed by iJoanne. who devi se s an eletbo,ra te and 1 \ \ .- thorough ~cheme to ~e seue \her two, kidnapped ehildren from

1 their grandmpther, and completes her pl~ of action by i \mmediately t~r11ng ta a smalL-Ontario town where she 1 . ~~abliSh. a modest, but finaneially and emo~ion , , ,/ ally secure, family environment for Andrew and Jennie. \ It should be noted. however, that the desire for order iG not enough. in itself. ta guarantee its achieve- \ \ \ . ment. Although '"Eneel's protagonists express, through \ direct or indirect means, a stron~ nerd for an end to the confusion perrneating their lives, the majority of them reveal ~ marked inability ta arrive at the personal integration necessary ta self~,realizatian. As eariier illustrat-e-d;Z -\-----+-1. man's search for meaning and authenticity in a world gov- , \ . \ erned by contingency is ~increasingly 'self'-defined, Iess \ created by the social web,"} and therefore dependent on ,the individual who undertakes it for its specifie qualities and characteristics. This'. in turn, implies the futility in- \ . herent in the tendency tO,rely exceesively on others to re \ solve the confusion and anxiety inhibiting one's progress

towards a fuller appreheneion of ~he self. In one-Vl~r \ ' 1 i (

\ \ \ \ \ ,-' :'. ~\ ,_", ~.j, ...,..,~ ...... uL.."""",,,,,,,,,,,,,",':'.. ~.; __s.&=---- ....-5-'J- ...... '"Q~·--- .. ------~----~--~\--~-~~...... ~ • \ \ , o , ~;, 'J . Street, Audrey's lover. Xanthos. clearly reinforces the ( \. solitary nature of the attempt·to consolidate the various elements of ona's existence into a cohesive whole, when , he states that "each person, ls responsible for his lire only" (204). In\a similar vein, Sarah remarks that your life His what you make it" (SBN, 164),

\ Yet, in direct opposition to this need :for self reli~nce, the majority of Engel's protagonists repeated+y avold their obligations to themselves through their overt and abldlng depéndence on, or obsession with, others asso-, ciated with thair paft or present for guidance and approVal. 4 With particular reference to The HoneYffian Festival, One-Wax ( \ street and Sarah Bastard's Notebook, there ls no deflnltive evidenc'e that Minn, Audrey and Sarah, respecti vely, have \ . attained the status of unique and self-determlning Individ uals capable of reaching decjsive conclusions about the

nature of thelr lives. Rather. one ls left wit~ the im pression that finn has f~-to come t9 terms wi th her fixation for 1oneyman," who lies "buried in Cannes and inside herself-" (THF 13) . Furthemore, at the close of the novel, -) '" . she ia still plagued by the ~eed to be thought of as "good" 1 by,her mothe~~aGertrudel reC~lling an evening out with several frien4s,, she prays, "1 never saw anyone do anything awful, ..• bui l Bwear to God. Ma. l heard tnem saying they "' did" (116), expressing the inclination ~o hayeher baby ,\ • 1 delivered at home, she immedla~ely wonders. "'What would '

.. \ \ 1 \ \ 1 59 \ . , , ' , Mother think?'" (122); and~ reali~ine that the rnornine paper i8 one of her daily drugs, she is simultaneously \ reminded of Gertrude' s dislike for the press (128).' . , , Audrey' s continued dependence on Max, even after

the e'V~nt of his dèath, is clearly established dt.\ring her \ journey back to England. Wai tineç for ~er train in Mar- , seilles, she i S overcome wi th the desire to pay homage to f ~ his memory by visiting all the places they had frequented \ there years ago~ Also, the fact th?t her former husband's .~ .. 1 presence on the island canstitutes one of the 'main reasons 1 for her deci sion ta leave the area (OWS 202) 'effectf. \ ~ v~ly '\ \ reinforces Audrey's tendency to flee from. rather than oon- - front. her previous mis~akes. Thrauen,her final inability, to accept the consequences bf her failed marriage, she,

J>aradox~cally, sustains Laddie'!:3 haunting and accusing in

fluence wi t~in herself f and is thus re~dered incapable of

integrating what was productive f~om her past experiences ) \ into her present life.

Si~d.larly, the contradictory nature of Sarah 1 s thoughts upon the cOliapse of her long-term re~ationship with her lov- , ~ er, Sandro, leads one to believe that she continues to view ,/ Him as a necessary' complement to her identi tY,1 ", f ' Trollopin~ nuisance of a de~d àffair. a \ two-week assignation stretched into years \ of a banali ty ,that sickens fifteen-year olda now. We fried ourselves in it. low ered and lessened us, lacerated old wounds. In his own context Sandra remains special, imper!ous as the sun'" subtle as an adder. ( \ \

:. \ " \ - - < 1 '\

-, \\ 60 Î\ li, t \ Reaching into mine, translating his feel ings, he i5 a raging foreign fool ch€wing (- " his own leash. ~retending Cinderella, l was Ciree, redueed him, cuckolded my Si8- 1:' ~ ter, ••. t No furniture, l tell you, l want to live with no furniture, eut through f the doilies to the oenter of the one- 1 horsehair sofa, my eye on the main thing t and, no myths. So l surround myself wi th my Sandro, ... (l!llli., 154--55) t'~

4,..

Unlike ~he protagon~sts'discussed aboye, Joanne and \ Lou may be said to undergo a psychological jour~ey through

• Il ' their ~ventual awareneSB that order c8.!1 be achieved only within the context of self-reliance. Formerly ined

and defined by' her restrictive re1!ltionship h~ hUS\ band,qJoanne initially regards her decis' leaie Bill as\ a ra'Sh and compulsive act s~rious 4nde,nnining the

~ direction and purpose of her exist nee. l could -have stayed wi th il1.' What doea 1t niean, that he insulte me by commi tting

1 > adultry? l had a roof over my head: He 1 >< \ didn't'bother me much.o My 8n8er with him ~ was,self-indulgent. Everyone's put ,down by somebody, , .except the king. and he getJ'( 'l

" \ \

ï~ 't o • - G t'l. \ , ,

~ 1 \ i, 61 • 1 \ \ i ! ~ hi s h~ad' rhopped off. InsteOad. l nad ta come here~ Where the.people have grey, ! !. \ ',C iJ cross faces and no spring ta their,step. 1 .; Their, faces are closed. \"We've al\l{ays. \ 1 1 1 n th~y Il done i t this way, say. We know . ·1 1 what's best for you. Tangle with us if • i you dare. Il (l. 813) , \~ Yet, as the e~ements of hef life slowly consql~date them ~ ; selves into a m~aningful and coherent pattern--ohe manages, in spite of the faet 'that she ls a middle-aged housewife \ t 1. \ who has been out of the labour force for years, to secure \ \ a seeretarial job at a local 'school, makes new friend's, 1 and suceeeds in her efforts to orient her ehildren to their 1 \ - t n'ew \ surroundings--Joanne \e~eriences a strong sens'r of relief

upon discover~ng that she does l}ot have tQ live for anyone

but herself 1

, <> .'. .. i t would be plain idiotie to getJnto .that mess again. The big ,bow:geois lire. "'\ DoLng everything YOUrself but under. some- ; one else's rule. Buying eipensive food

. 'h~ Vias never ·corning,home to 'eat, cater-' 0 \ ing to people who don 1 t gi va a damn. How- \ ever hard i t ia, l lm staying 'onfY\own. ; (109) . \ Il .1 Havi~~ her aehievements as' so~id proo! of fer a~lii ty to ~ndure a'criais, and to be responsi~le

, , her own, life, Jaanne "1s thus rendered ~apable, i1'} time t of

reaching some ~ound and Dbjecti ve coneluf?~ons \about t,he,

nat~e gr ~er m~iagel "It died bet~een m~ an~ Bill. died \ \. , ihgloriously of my insecurity and hie vanity. It has gone. , ' t . and we do weIl ta live àpart" (131). A f'~ther 'indication 1

01 Joanne t s st!ength t,ocuees on her 'gradua! a~~ess that r- tI" "love of the past has been known to bé a burden- (lJJi. , ,-- . ' '" "

:'\ \

\, .'

i &4_ - .

\ \

\ \ ( "No lone;er visualizing her uncle and aunt as perfect and· ihfallible being~, she co~es ta, realize that, for' the most part, Stanley's liberalism ànd Frieda's classless ppilosophy are mere.ly faça.des concealiJJtg th~ former'~ o\d-fashioned and intolerant v~~s, and the l~tt~er' s tendency towards snobbery. \. . Their collective power over her'~estroyed. Joanne is free to , \ \ evaluate her endeavours according to her own norms and standards. Not surprisingly. the new perspeéti\e from which she

vi~ws her life is a positive one, incorporating a mature ac-

ceptance' of her own 'partic~,lar limi tations and a: hea~ thy rec ogni tian of her steady progress towards ,the per~onal authen

ticityand integration which self-realization, implies:,

Somet~mes l think l 'm a ,shallow V/oman, \ shaillo'yl and ,passive and mean. Other times l think, you can' t be aIl thi~s to all men, and l' malI l"ve got an6 lucky to be ali ve. l 'look -out the:.:·window now; ,the sun 19 slanting low àcross the river, .•. l think t we' ve star'ted a new life here. l t' s nct as easy and privileged as the oid on~ was, but it has 1 ts own flavour. We have' a few friends, we' Il find more, we can go te the,Y and the library, and out in the country to *osie's and Merrill·s. Vle've a landlord, a doctor, Mrs Brodhurst. and -- ...,\ a Hst of babysi tters. Why, we exist. . That' s a miracle...... It' s halfway to seeih~ lire stead ily and whole and probably as far as or-, dinary mortals like Jen and Andrew'and me wi~l ever get. (1)4) , \ & It is cleai, theref'ore ~o that in \d~r~ct opposi ti~n 'to Mi11Jl, Audrey and Sar~. who continue to be. plagued by the' , l, r; conflict between , .(f~ i "., \ . i - the, activé ml moving ev\elfrorward in 1 time and space, unburdened-by the mem- \ ~ \ \ " " . \, \ ~u "- • \

\ \ \ 63 \ "' ( ory of guil t, and the reflective or: passional conscie"nce moving toward î "' \ the'paat ~n hope,of knowledge or ~- jpnement, ~ ", Joanne' s assessmen't of he't previous experiences ultimately

Ïunctions; as~\a therapeutic 'rather than à, disruptive, influence. "as a means for regaining the continui ty and identi ty of the "\

, ' . se1f."6' Through her refusal to dwell' on the negative "aspects of her' rig~\d childhood. ~he recognizes 'that self-realization

can l)e achievèd onJ.--y by fac~ng the reali ty of the pre sent. \ \ Like Joanne. Lou' s gradual awareness 0; self-reliJc'e-, as a prerequisite for order constitutes the basis "of he,f psycho10gi_ca1 journey. The' uniqueness ,of Lou' s ~xperience, , \' however, l~es ~in i ts t'bndamental ~ack of emphasis, "outside -.. ... ( '"J of the 000,as10nal te1l1ng glimpse. fi: on the speoliïcs of her '~ pasto A1though one lel;rns that she \h"ad "'sh~p memorie~~ (Il, 19) of oelng on C!1I'y Island'before, the major concern./ of the nov- \ 'e1's plot fa LOu's' "growing erértic ,obses~ion~-8 with 'the es- \ ' ," . . tate ,bear left in her charge, and her eventual Il spiri tual , \ , \ regeneration through reconcilil.ation wi th the animal re~ities, , \ \ the bqdyis 'jOys .. "9 Initially evincing a cautious curiosity 'II Irt l , Ill! 1 r, " •

"""""'''' "" "" 1 t~'w~ds th~ 'animal, ehe 'is impelled, in the first po"~itive

gesture of her own rene'i{al J ~o to re~h out and attempt to 1· \ ' raise him frqm his path~tica11~ reduced and denatured state.

l t looked st,upid and defeated. She : ' hunkered where i t could not reach her ~and stared at it. Its nose was long t' like a dogts 'Out broader. ' Its snout \f '1 ,l'aS n~row, i te eyes were close togeth ," er. lt was not a handsome beast. AM "i'jÎ "~C. ' i t would not be. 1if \ ital ways iived Il,a:' ' " ;,~ ,\ .' . \ .. \ Il \ 1 ! .'\ 1 ~ \ 64

~ ·l J ? the end of that chain. She thought . ( briskly of restoring sO'1"r1e gloss to it, ... :f taking it for walks; (35-)6) 1 \ As Lou becomes increasingly absprbed in' the bear, . \ he soon shifts in her minq from an impersohal .. i t", to a \ defeated and wéary woman r~rnarka~y llke hersel!, and

\ final1y,· to a "him" t "1 can manage him, she decî~ed, and wen't inside" (J6). The essential 'core of\ his animali ty .\ constantly eluding her grasp, she begins to invest his hid- \ ,c 1 den nature wi th 'atFributes that are strictly th~ pro'ducts, f \ \ , \ of her om fantasies and longings. "she had discovered she 'could paint any race on him that ~~ed" while his ac- tuaI range o'f expression was a mystèry" (72). Accord.ingly, " ...... - when sh~\feeds him scraps from her supper, h~ appear~~ to l' look at her "beseechingIy" (42); when she laughs, he looks l ' \ ... l' ( \' "as if he ls laughing too" (49) J'and, wQen she ls depressed, j he seeme "subdued and full 'of grie~" (84)-. As reinforée-

1 ment for h'kr growing invol verne nt wi th the beâr, the books " , l' /

,~ , Lou i5 examining mysteriously drop erudi te ,'scraps of infor \ mation concerning his physieal and biologie al characteristics. his c0TÙ:?-e'ction to myth. folktore and totemism, and his func-. \ ~ion as a form of d~vinity. Signifi~antly, her,in~erest in the notes' increases in direct proportion to her love for "the animal. Initially regarding these bits of paper, left by 1 Cary, wlth ~etached amusement, ehe later ca~aiogues'them wi:thin a bibliographlcal sy,stem ~so ~la~orate. in \~at~I"e, that she has çlif:fi~ul ty justif'ying i ta existence to herself. \ ( , . 1

\ ' . -... \ ,\ -.Tl. '" \ \~ '\ •

Methodicaliy, because pass~on is\not the { medium of bibliography, she finièhed cat aloGuing the book sne was working on. Made a small priva te mark on i ts card to indica te a be'ar-clipping had been found in i t, btarted \ a new card, and, marked on it on what page and \ \ ~ in what book she had found the sl:ip of paper. And. curiou'{ly, the time and date. ' 'She spent the rest of the night making l ' similar cards for the other slips of paper, though she could not ,assign accurate times and dates for the finding of them. She won- .dered, as she did it, why she was doing it; 'if she were trying to construct a kind 91 '1 Ching' for herself. NOl she did not be \ 'lieve in non-rational wrocesses. she was a bibliographer, she told herself. She simply wanted ,th~ record to be' accurate. (70-71) 1 ~ For a brief time, Lou experiences a perlod of in- \ nocenceodur~ng whiqh she engages ~n child-~i~e activities \ with the bear on various parts of the Cary\estate. But , i • ) her awakened desire soon drives her beyond the accepted " p~le to indulge 1n .. a sexulil rebirth thro,ugh h'im, her first '

\ \ totar sexual ecstasy,"11

" \ ' The tongue that was ~uscular bût also -----., capable of lengthening itself like an eel found aIl her secret places. And like no human being she had ever known it persevered in her pleasure, Wh en she came, she whimpered, and the tear licked away her tears. (93) , ". Seeking ·connection, completion, perhaps'even issue,H12 s~e' strives for a total, reciprochl \elationS~i~ which de mands from the bea~ a, transformation of which he 19 not capables1J

She\lay nake~, ~anting, wanting to be nearl , . \ her lover, waht1ng ~o olfer him her two breasts and her womb, al~ost believing that he could ~mpre~te her with,the twin heroes that would save her tribe •••• 1 \ j ( \

/ \ \

7 1 1 \

li• -~6 1 ,i ~ ~he sat up. 'The bear skt up across \ , f from her. She rose to her knees and moved l' towards him. When she ~a~ close enough to 1 fe el the we't glo ss on her b;reasts, she _ • mounted hiM. Nothing happene4. He could ,f not penetrate her ~nd she could not eet , him ~n. \ -~ \ 1~ She tu~ned away. He was quite un- '\, mov,ed .... (121:\23-) "- "

During the COUIwe of a dream, Lou cornes 'to rec~gnize î

\ 1 ~er compulsive behaviour as a form of self-destructive in- i .,i ' ' ( dulgence ,,, a conclusion eventually substantiated by the bear' s \ reSecting claw which 1 i ~Ilows her to comprehend the reality beyond the taboo she has violated, the natural law \ that spells out wit~ut guilt the limita tions of the possib~tities of communication between kinds of being.14 \ Signiflcantly, aIl sexual activities are restricted to Cary's study, never, once occurring within the animal's natural hab- " , ~tat--the surrounding forest. Lou's gradua! ability to qis

sociate her life from the estat~ bear ls clearl~vlncèd '\ 'during thl\!lr final meetingt 'Joe started the motor. The bear twi tched at the 'noise and his tongue flung out slde ways and licked h~r hand. Then Joe pushed off with a casual good-bye ~d she was 1eft standing,IJatching the bear recede down the channel, ,fa~ dignlfied old woman w~th his nose to the' w~nd in the bow of the bo~t. He did n~t look back. She did not expect him to. (1)8-) , simi~arlYr' ~er decision ta leave Cary"s notes on bears in \ ( his desk drawer la yet another sign of her seIf-relianc,e. \- "She did not need them any more" '(1)9). 1 \ Havin~ pragressed, through her psychological journey,

j \ \ \ \ ( \

,1 r -\ , , 1 from a state of overt dependence and insecurl ty to("the

~,t. ( :i 1 \self-integration of those who have ~ushed themselves to \ 1 the ~argins qf human possibili ty and survi ved," 15 Lou' manifests, her B.wareness of order as a necessary pre- condition for self-realization, and i8 thus rendered

capable of ass~ng responsibility for her own lffe with in a normal socj.al context. The extent of her develop '\ ment towards personal stability and authenticity ls strik- \, ingly rev:ealed ln' the contrast between her earllér ir- 1 ,1 ~ rational attachment to the bear and her eventual abill ty

ta maturety and logically -evaluate i ta probable omeaningl i, What had ~assed to her from him she did not know. Certainly it was not the seed of heroes. or magic, or any astounding \ virtue, for she continued to be herself. But for one strange, sharp moment she could feel in her pores and the taste of , ! her own mouth that she knew what the world ' 1 , wa.s for. She fel t not tha.t she was at last humant but that she was at last clean. -, Clean and simple and proud. (1)6-37) \ ( In addition to belng founded on the notion of order , , and on onets'growing awareness 9f how order can be aChieved, o a further \ark of the PSYChOlOgi~al journey resides ln its repeated association with dynamic, rather than atatic,

.\characters. As prevlouSlY illustrated.16 the emergence of "' a ~dically' transformed world vlew, incorporating th~ idea of the universe as a relative and therefore confusing welter of phenomena, has resulted in a correspondingly extreme " " metamorphosls in the concept of mlll),'I, That le to say, if matt. by his naturet reflects a world c;pable of being perceived

\ \ \ \ \ 68 \, \ \ , , ' frorn a multiplicity of perspectives, then he himself can no \ f longer be regarded as a fixed and preformed entity with the capacity for ul timate derini tion within a system of precise and rigid categories, but as an endlesB change of sensibil i ty :t:orever ln the stages of becomingl "To \be a person means to sorne extent to be not finished, not yet, not yet \ defined, and not yet ready for definition."17 \ In the,attempt to discover and porne to terms with \ whd they ,are, Engel' s protagonists eventually reveal an a-

wareness of their identities aB fluid and open-endedl Minn~ 1 ',senses, on the night of the Ht?n~ festival, 'that she ha~ become "another person" (THF, 97 h Joanne views her estab-

~iBhment in a new town, with all its attendant :rsponsibil- 1

i i~s, as the key factor behind her sudden realization that

sh no longer seerns to be her~elf (i, 84); and Sarah re-

l marks~ that she ia "melting and re-forming'day after day, \ like '. evetyone else, never twice the same person, always the \ same, and somewhere in between" (SBN, 12). In Qlli;.Way Street, Audrey undergoes an unexpected transformation when

her tra~els bring her into close proximity'with nature. \ - Rambling th~ough the Gr-eek 'foothills with ~er donkey, Lina, she experiences an intensification of per senses, hearing "the small sounda the world makes in its whirling" (215), \ and ls reacgu inted with

, , a q iet, infantile joy available to woods , . V(alk s, beach-comber~, a joy you forget when y 've been living,the squirrel's life in the c' ty ..•. Something talls off you when (

, !

\ r \ : :: :: : \ \ \ \ 69 , ~

~ 1

~ '\ you h'ave the woods to be your cloak, you i ( ) , don't n~ed wit a~~inst the world. (215) ).. Lou undergoes an even greater metamor~hosis upon h~r arrivaI

at Cary Island. Here, ~life ta~es on for her a marvellous ! :. i i ,$avour, as thoUCI\, ?he \IIere awakening from a long hi berna- ; .'i / ,,18 , . 'b' /' ,tl.on," and the connnr; of spr1.ng · rlt\f~s on and accompa- l ~ nies a similar burgeoning in Iher mind a~d body," 19 Absorbed ~ by the vitali ty of the countryside, where the Lmd .. is hectic

with new Green" (~, 18), and the morning lieht i9 a "moving , ;/

presence" (JJ), she expeiiences "an odd senseo , ..• of heing \ \ reborn" (19). Initially prone to hide from the outside ,~

\ world. she, like Audrey, gradually indulges in the magni- fication of her senses: How she want~d to li sten to the ri v'r world shaking the rain clff i ts wings. A bittern boomed eerily. With \ a rush, a flock of returning swailows careened across the sky. A fish leapt. At.her feet, frog spawn winked in the sun. (62) " Later, in Cary's horne,)Lou'S new:'found sense of·1tranquility

increases her awareness of how li ttle i t talces to di sturb ' \

"the precious felted silence"' '{46) pe~e:lting her surround ingsl She ri11ed the kettle, , .. sCraping\ \ the dipper against the pail. She dressed and hearù the tearing noises of her c1othes. She stomped her shoes on and heard the laces whirring against 'each other as she tied them up. She scraped the butter knife against her toast, Stirred her coffee with a jangling spoon. (46), \ 1 1 ~ \ (, As ra infoI;'c ement for the changes she feels within herself,

~--~-"- \ \

70 \ f ~ou passes~through various creaturely existences wllicfi become progressively alien ta -her original self as she grows

'increasingly involved in bath ~he Island an~ the estate

bear. Formerly a mole, who "did no~ like cold air on her . \\. . ~ \ . ) . skin" (11), she eventually burrows up ~rom her basement

offiG~,at the Historieal Institute into the open country side of Pennarth, \'Ihere "she woke shivering again and .. raised her nose to the air like an animal" ('45). Observ

\ \ ing a late spring snowfall. she "sniffed again. shé put

her boots ..-on and went outside a~d peed in i t, wondering. \ how Many years it was sinee she had yellowed snow" (45). Soon after, Lou eats her meals in the sarne manner as the

bear himselfl "qne morning~ she got on her hands and knees,,' and they shared their eornflakes and powdered milk and

- raspberrie~" (121). . Towards the end of the novel, she \ has become totally unrecognizablel , ,

\ '-( . She looked a~ herself in the female \ colonel's piér-glass. Her hair and her eyes were wild. Her skin was brown and her body was different and , her face was not the same face she had seen bafore. She was frightened of herseit. (12S) T~lications e~ating fro~ thi. contemporary \ view of man as fluid and protean are highly slgnifioant ta \ \ \ the mo~ement towards self-realization, sueeesting. above all, -that if the entire self does not exist aIl at once,

then man la 1 .of necessi ty, continually in search of his '" c identityr

\ \

The person ul timately is Jone wh-o i r himself as he lives. Unlike his maslc~ea~ing ks he has no fixed form. His language constantly forces \ \ him on. His consciousness constantly brings C' him new data about himself. Out of the maze 1 1 of poss~)illties, he becomes who he i8~ The \ imposoibiliiy of ever rraching adequate def inition ls based on the fact that the persan i8 "not yet"l that is. he i~ becoming. He - seeks ta understand himself through his many poses, through introspection, through the jud~ements of others about him, through his functions; And he realizes that aIl of this iSiinadequate and only partial. 20 If style i s viewed as .. a mode of awareness,;i 21 as .. a means of insi sting -on sarnething." 22 then Engel' s tend- , \ \ ,." \ ency. to \ stress the insignificance of her novels' endings a[ final resolutions ta the questions surrounding her pro-~ tagonists' identities effectively reinforces "the open ended nature of personal defini tion.t 2J AccordinelY~ at the close of The HoneYillan Festival, One-Way street. Sarah ! \ Bastard" s Note book, Joanne and ~, respect~\VelY, Minn i

is left \sittin~ in her kitchen, after a night of self eva~uati~n, re~ding the morning paper ànd anticipating her husband's arrivaI; Audrey, having just returned from Greece, i8 commenting on the-grey London weatherr Sarah

is contemplating the various possibilities ~f existence open ta her in Montreal, Joanne 15 assessing the quality

of the lif~style she has created for herself and hcr two childrenl and Lou is driving back ta Toronto after her extended stay on Cary Island.

\ Of particular importance to the Psychological jour- ~ 1 ( ney is the way in which a protagonist chooses to rea~t to

\ 1 \ t \. 1 \ • • \

72 \ <

1 c the kno~ledge of her identity as fluid" and beyond the

bounds of ultimate deflnition: if she resists the fac~ 1 that she experiences herself n'as different from moment to \ moment in tim~t"24 regardlng it as a source of anxiety and ~onfusion, then she i6 static. and hence. closed to a fuller,apprehension of the selfl if she views it wlthin \ the mOre positive context of an evolving or progressional, developmellt, ther;t she is dynamic, "one who continues to be open to ali the possibilities,whlc~ self offers."25

The tendencytowards inertia~ wh:llch resul ts from hn, /, inablii ty to accept the self as open-ended 'ls Iparticularly , \ relevant in the ca'se of Minn, Audrey and Sarah. ln The 1 tioneyman resti val, "'-:tt!e only 'One of Engel' s wor'ks lacking -, in a spatial journ'e~, the numbing s,!:asis of Minn' 6 con-

dition i9 emphasized by the>-meèhanics of the tiplpt• Through- < out the entire course of the n?vel, Minn remains closeted \ J wl thin her Victorian-styled I\ome. an "Obstacle\maze" (1'2), ' wl th a tendency to run out of control.

Fourteen rooms on a Thursday evening. You ~ could go r~und and genuflect to aIl of them, as if tney were stations of the cross. They -' / were stations of the cross. She could not get· ovér the tact that she was in charge of' ?ll Qf them, that when the plaster slld down and sat in a heap, or"the bugs f9und a new place to proliferate. or the wiri'ng protrud- ed suddenly·, i t was h~rs to remedy the error. 1- • - \ It took her weeks to reallse that what they '\ had in the ceilings "as not a sprink'ler sys 1 , tem but a ~~twork of' ,gas-jets, sorne of which \ \ J were live. She had not expected to live -\,i ~ this kind of lif,~' (1) \ \ \ . \f 0\ " l l 1, l r, l ~.... ------~--~------~

l' \ '73 \

( Dissatisfied iith her pre'sent and perplexed by her oscil- / ... lating erno,tions wi th regard to her past, she describ~s her

self as "an idle procrastinating complaining wàman" (106). who woûld rather dwell on, ,than come to terrns wi th. the t \ \ negati ve and contradictory aspects of her exi stence 1 i could r~ad. or play bridge, shè thought. ~ could take a course or go to meetings. l ~ould paint. l could take up etching, l could ,get the television back. l could f go ta bed~ l don't have to spend~the small t - hours squeezing sores. (108) 4 1 \ \. f The fact that The Honeyman Festival ends wi th \ a circular \' " , .' , , 1 qu~stion further re1»forces the \ futili ty permeating f/iinn' S., ,attempts to e~aluate her lUe wi th the objectlvi ty needed '. "' ta gain a clear and well-formulated realization of her own \ \'~ndividiial~ty, "And the mdrning will come, and 50 will" the night again. Won't it?" (1)1). \ \ ( - ".' " ~'(\ The stasis ir~rorming Audrey' s approach to her experiences in Greece i9 established by her need of absolute

answers te to ease, the strain of mul t\pliCi ty" (OWS, 2)8)

associated wi th her \effor~6 to find personal meaning- and -. .~ authenticity amid the isIand''S.,fluid conjunction of images& , '\ l don't understand anythine;, not here, not anywhere. There has to be more than greed, even the peasants know there i5 \, more than greed. they cling to their old ways, but l don't know where it la or what i t is ... l li e in bed thinking. l don 1 t'. understand \ anything. Not sex, not reli \\ gion, not. art. no,t beauty, not even \ Foreign Debt. T,here has to be more· to' \ that big abstr~ction we call life for want of a better word than food on a \ \ \ \ r' 'r' Ï"

, \

\ 74~, , \

,, plate, cash iz:r"the tUl, leGs in a bed, ( ! , there is mor~ the people here know it., ,~ 1 But l don't K):'lOW what l.t is. (237) \ Burdened and discouraged by the weight' of \ \ - ' , , \ tions, Audrey is. rendered incapable of movernent "in the

psychological, or spiritual senses "26 tt the task o:f t, '

in bath exterior land interior terms, is naggingly incompl te', , ,

the husk of exp-erience rather than experience i tself. "27 " "

Her encounter with the Island having proved t~ be "a one- " \ 1 2 8 ~ - .. 1 way street wi th a dead end," Audrey' re turns to the' mo~e .;

familiar, but equally disorienting, world of England, w~ere, , 4 C • . \ for"a long ti}1l'e, she "haunts olive 'merchants,- speaking to

them in borrowed words" (259,).' ~

Sarah also reveals herse1! as a static ch~~cter 1 through her final inability"to resolve the confusion emanating from the realization of hèr identity as protean and ~biguous, \ '\ \ Li sten, Sarah. ,,r' m sièk and ti1"ed of you. Sick. All dl:-eams and possessions and pre tensions., Pretending 'to 'be this woman and b~ing that. Tr'uth, stupid, truth, scream it at yourself, the truth lies soméwhere in"between. You've dreamed yourself into some se~pot, you,' va decided to live as ri"~ professor, you're not that, ~~'re not \ this. Kil~ourself., or declde. Babble a bout leavin a corrupt society, dreaming o~ running aw . I~·s not this or that, it's nothing or both. learnoto resolve, go . craz,Y. or die,.. ,'~ (saN, 141) "

De-api te he~ un\'{illingneSB to acc~~t her l,ife (97).. Sarah' s capacity for progressive change i~ sharply' reduced 'b~ the ,tact that the reading of her ~own .ent~ai~s has been un- ~ , '0 . - o " \ '

J .

" \ '\ 75 o \ \ \ ' 'ScJentlfie" ('4 )" and hel1ce, detrimental to a clearer,

\ more obje'~tive evaluation of ~er relation to both her' . , past and present. Plagued by the confllct between the p \ ,,1 \ desire to fulfil her oWn neëds and the obligations'she . "\ fe'els towards the dictates of her upbringing. she ,remains , , :l ~. / ,~ () a "humolHess Canadia,n caught up in t should'" (161) 1 a 1

" ' \,static condition which frustrates her ~tt~~Pts \0 realize j her own potential as a" unique and'self-determining indivi'd-

\ ual. \ \ Unli1èe the abo'~e\meqtion"ed protagonists. Lou and - \ \ Joanne reveal themselves- as ',.,dynamic, and consequently,1 \ \ \ ,\ , , ,\ ,'open to movement in the psychological sense, through their _.~ / .~, \ ' ability to adapt to, and bring about, chinge. AlthQugh

~ Louts departute from the north country oeeurs late in the , \ , , novel. 1eaving one to speculate upon the success of'her en-

, . deavours'to re-orient herself to lite in Toronto, her final , . \ :J\ o retitrn to 'Cary Island a.nIit to resign from', job at the Historical Institute' firmly' estab11shes her . ' a~i1ity to adjust' the tecurrent ~pattern of her 1i'fe.:to . , meet the ne~ insignts she has gained into the nature of

her i~entity. No longer gi~en ta crisès of faith concern~

ing the validity of her-existence, shè'exhibits the as- \ , " , 1 surance emanating.from.a positive accep\ànce of the self" .... ------~ --- "- ~-~ as open-ended through her realization that it la "tim~ to ., 'llove ~~It (141) l '"\ ~. ' ...

\ ' She ~ent up the river slowly. She, !~lt • ( tender, 8et~na. Sh. ~emembered éveriings

\ .t \

\ --., " , \, \ ' , \ . ' \ of Gitting by the rire with the b~ar's \ hend in her lap. She rernèmb~red t~e niGht the stars fell ~n her body and burned and burned. She rcmembered cuil~t and a dream she had had where her mother _.# ' mad~ her wri te lett~r8~ of apoloGY '1;0 the ~f Indians for having had to do with a beart~ and she remembered the claw that had .f healed guil t.- Shè fel t strong and 1 pure. , (140) , \ ··-Joanne also ~ni1:èsts the" dynamism assoGted wi th

psycholoGic~l rnovement through her determination to ramain : 0:e;~~i,s\ic,..,in th~ face of, 'ra~,ical chane;es stem~ing from the~col~apse of her marriage and her subsequent efforts , \ , ;i ':1 ." , "to \&t,~rt again as Joanne herse!f: .. 29 \ J In spiFe of Ü1e fact- t'liat l found\ the prin cipal of'Birmingham School a most offensive , ' young man and of familiar type. badeer-fati sure of k"imse~f, equipped wi th a small psycho lo~tca\ vocabti1ary for the impressing of .parents and a large ego, he has a good bud get for staff, a~d a,decent concept of time. 'He says he can provide a 1ist of babysitters who don't have to be driven home if l need to work at night. And there's no better Vlay of' getting to know a" town', than working i in onè of i t,s institutions. ' Second, there' s the town i tsel-f. l' "remember i t as a gr,ey, dour place. But since then the original scot~.population has b~en thinned by newcomers and people 'seem friend':' ly enough....VI' \ "- 1 And then there's the business of house \ keeping. How easy and cheap it is, without a man to please: Frieda used't~ lecture me a bout vanity, but now J'm out of my married life l realize that half ~y\vainness, rny house-and-body proudn.ess was really based . \ on Bill' s pressure. (J~ as) ---. --.. Havin~ succeede'd in the att«t:pt- to :reate a N~tYl1rrn- , accordance wi th her new perception pf h,~r~~ ~di vidU~l-

i ty 1 JoanQc co~e's to ~quate 'her former role as Bill' s

"- ." ~ \ -, .. "' \'. c ...--- \\ 0 - , LU1 • - \ \

wife wi th the stasia of "a carved Tace on a maus6Ieum'. ( ( Stuck forever" (,1)4), 'No longer v:iewing her existence .' \. as "Mlz Laurence" (84) in t~rms of "quiet desperation"

( 1 21)" s h e n9 t ,0n1 y~an accep\V'~ b u, t ant" l.Clpa t e', the1 par sibJli~ies of her future in the light of continual gro~hl ~ \ \ " \ ,,,, Our home iB the garden,flat, and it's good to be in it. The children ar back at school. and l start at the board of education office tomorro \ The pro sp~ct no longer h,orrif~e se. \ ' \ (1))-)4) - 0 \ "' \ . \

/ \ \ .'

\ \ 1 \ 0'

, J \ \ \ " - , " \

\ - \ \ \

\ \

1 : __ ---..-. -~- \ \ -., . " ' , i \ \ \ ... \ '\

/ ,- . 1 \

\ .., \ \ .. \\

1 \ 78 - 1 t

~~---~ ---- FOOTNOTES. CRAP'TER III

l'The occurrence of the spatia,L j-ourney wi thin' t~e context of personal criais la dlscussed in Chapter II, l' pp. :33-J6., " 2The solita~ nature of th~ ~aréh for self-reali ••- tion 113 discussed in Chapter l, P.~~ , ", . '0 JMalcolm Bradbury, The Social.,Conte?Çt -of Modern \. English Literature (Oxfordl Basil Blackwell, 1971), p. 10. \ -----.... , \ 4 ,';:' '. , The problem of self-re1ia e in relation to Engel's ~ protagonists is dfscussed in C~apt r II, PP. JO-J2. 42-48. . '" 1 1 \ 5Ihab Hassan, Radical l' oc nce 1 Studie' in the Con- temporary American Nove ' Pr noeto New Jersa c Prlnceton 'University Press" 1961}. p. 37.\ \

6Hans Mayerhoff l' Time i~' Li erature (Berkeley and Los Ange};e~1 University of Cali or a Press" 196,8), p. 54.

1 7Adele Wiseman, "Pooh at ",Pu erty," Books in Canadac A Natiopal Review of Books, 5. ,No. 14 (April, 1976), p. 6. \e '" \ il. Anthony Appenzell, ~~he Great Bear," Canadian L terature~ A uarterl of CriticisID and Re iew, No. 71 {Wi~ter. 97 " p. 10. \ \ ---9WiseÎiÎà.n, !œ. ci t., p. 6. \ 10 '\ -'Ibid 11 \ Ibid.,p'.7~ "' ' \ 12r'bid .• pp. 7-8. - 1 .i \ \ 1 1~ l,' ~Michael Taylor, "Beat. Marian Engel," The t!ddle No. 110 (Summer, 1976). p. 129. . 1 • ,.-- ., \ \

,~ : - '*

\ 79 \ \ ( 14Wiseman, 2E. oit .• Pi 8. \ 15 Appenzell, QE. ~.,i p. 106 .

. 16Man , S i~en,tl ty as' ~luid<"and open-~~ded ls discussed in Chapter l, pp. 2-4. '[ . p 1

Center. Paths ta, in Modern Li terature - ty Press, 1972 " p. 144. ( \ \

19Ibid. " \ \

20Garzilli, .Ql!. cit., p •.149. 21 Hassan, QE" ci t., p. 97. ·1

22S'usan SontaB, Against Interpretàt'ion. (New Yo~k 1 ( Dell Publishing Co" IJ?-c., 1966), p. 35. \, ,

2JG~rzilli, ~. cit., p. 1)2.

24 Meyerhoff! QE.'i c t., p. 2. ,\ 25 . _ Garzilli, .2P.. ci t., p. 150.

26Margaret Hogan, "South ~indY," Books in Canada. lA .~~atQonal Review o.;r Books, 2, N~ 4 (,o~ober. 19,73), p. 10. \

-2'7Christa Van Daele, "The ,p;inc~ss of Serendip~ Mar . , ian Engel in Review," Branching Out. A Canadian Magazine for Women (Apri~-June,. 1976), p. 41. \ , ~ ~ " " 28peter Bu! tenhuis, "Brill1.ant Pastiches in~.Search of a 'Mean~ng." The Globe and Mail, Saturday, 'Nov. '10, 1973. p. )2.

, 29Myrna Kostash,. "Tha~ Niée Woman Next Door," )gok$ in Canada. A National Review of Books. 4,' No. 5 (May~5), ,\ p. 6. \ \ \ '\

\. " , , . \ \ \ ( 'CHAPTER \ CONCLUS

The relevance of Engel's'particular treatment of the i problem of self-realization t the major tenets comprlsing " the twentieth-century Ilterary vi ion ütems mainly from " ' ~' her repeated foeus on ~as isolat~d. frag- l' /' " mented .... al together. alone, a c~racter in search pf h.is \, \ lost self, ,living from moment to moment ln. the---f.lux oL., immediacy.M 1 Through the use of'metaphor2 and purpose fully fragmentary, episodic and loosely structured plots,) \ stylistic devices whieh funetion as effeçtive physieal \ equivalents to her protagonists' sense of being confined .\ within identities not only dissociated and seemingly alien, , " - but ~acking in sharp and "coherent definit'ion, "~nd the , \ periistent emphasis on he~ protagoniste' mude of percep- \ , . tion, ~he nature and complexities of their ~nterior land- ,\ \ Gcape"Engèl's ficti9n flrmly'exemplifles the modern con- ,, "- cern with the "searching and privat"e problem,,4 of ,rnrn' s 'authenticity, his struggle tOto fulfill himself and to af firm his existence" 5 withi~ a universe characterized ,by r the breakdown of tràditional values and accepted, effec-

\ \ tua! standarqs ~\ feel~ng and conduct. To reinforce the highly problematical and uncertain

" nature of~man's ~earch for self-realization in a wQrld governed 'by' contingency, Engel employs "the motif 01.' the

jou~~ey in,such a way as to extend it beyond the tradition- \ 80 \

l ' \ _-..------.------1

81 \ \ al l imi ts of the archetypal que st pattern. \ In other wor

lite~ary vision--a vision incorporating the notion of man as a victimized and solitary entity caught not only within \ - the chaotic welter of a relative and indifferent universe, but wi thin ~he rlivcrJrse and conflicting aspec ts marin!; up his own identity--the journey can no longer be rer,arded

-as an assured flight towards a more profound person~l a- <: wareness wi thin which experience acquîres deeper meanings. \ Once in~ormed by a strong sense~of purpo,e and direction,

the journeY7Qf the contemporary literary hero has sinee .... ,...." come ta be viewed in the light of anxiety and confusion. Labyrinthine rather than stralghtforward in its movement.' '. .,. it offers no guarantee of a positive outcome in terms of an intcgrated and\well-formulated apprehension of the 6 ' self. This marked absence of assurance is clearly estab- , lished by the paradox underlying Engel's identical use of the spatial and temporal journeys. AlthouGh bath allow

'for the psychological movement which culminat~s in'5e1f realization. decided emphasis is instead placed on their

illustration of certain aspects of character which-~unc- . \ tion as serious deterrents to a more ma~ure and satisfy- , \ ing evaluation of the self. the former reveals the sense ..,,' of dislocat'ibn and diffusion suffered by En&e1 ~_~ protag-

\ onists in a ne~ 'environment--factor~ which sustain the

\ 2 • • \ \

fractured nature of their lives pr!:,lvious to -the journey J;" , itself; the latter demonstrales their continued obsession with the guilt emanating from highly restrictive, puritan lca1 upbringings--a disruptive tendency which results in ". the inabi1ity to formulate new values and standards in ,J ( j accordance with the demands of their own pa~ticular 1ife- styles, and to gain a balanced and objective perspective 14 'i i of their past, present and future. 1 Further underminin~ the concept of the journey as a steady P7gresSiOn towarda personal authentici ty and in

tegration 18 the fact that on1y two of E~gel's protagonists \ eventually overcome th,e above-mentioned drawbacks to self- \ rea1ization:and experience growth in the psychological 1, sense. Although all five evince. through direct or in- \ 1 i direct rneans, a strong need for a~ end to the confusion and instability permeating their present circumstances. the majority of them fail to grasp the principle of order on which the psychologi.cal journey is based. and on which the aChiev,ment of self-realization depends. Rather th~n

a~sume complete responsibility for their own lives, they remain overtly depandent on others linked ~ith their past

1\ ! .~r present for guidance and approval. and persist in re garding certain i~\1iVl~Ua\S \ às necessary complements to L \ \ their fragrnented sense of self. As previously established • ~• . su~h propensi~ies are especially relevan~ in the case of ! ( t Minn. Audrey and Sarah. Joanne and Lou~ however. grad~- '\ \ \ \ \

" awareness of order as achievab1e on1y with- , "' in the co of self-reliance, and are thus rendered capable J psychological movement. Formerly controlled and defined by irrational attachm\nts. a sign of the\r new-found independence lies in the striking contrast be

tween their earlier compulsive beha~iour and their Iater \ , \ ability to m~turely and logically evaluate the ner,ative • effects of such beh\viour on the attempt to gain a fuller ,,1 understandine of the self. .

- , ~ In addition to realizing their potential as unique and self-deterrnining indi viduals, Joanne and Lou co~orm to a further requirement of the psychological jburney through their status as dynamic characters with ~he ca

p~city ta a~apt to. and bring about. chance. Unlike Minn, , Audrey and Sarah, who, as statie,eharacters, resist the • knowledge of their identities as fluid and open-ended. 1 ~ viewing it as a source of anxiety and confusion, Joanne j .

\ and Lou react optimistically to su ch knowledge. regarding " it as an opportunity for evolving or progressional develop (

ment. The implications emanating from this ap~r~hension of one' s identity as an endless change of sensibillty are highly significant to the journey towards self-realization,

sugges~ine. above all,\that if the entire self does not exist aIl at once, then man ls, of necessity. continually

in search of who he 18. Acc~rdingly, within the context / \ of Engel's fiction, the concept of self-realization in- (

S ( J' \ \ &------~- -rc -,- - ...,,_-.,.,..... __ ..... --- ___--:-"~~~=::=II ______2 - - . t

volves a noticeable paradox, for an authentic anQ grat-

-...... Il' ifying personal\awareness is contingent on one's recognition of the fact that the self. as ever-changing, can \ never be fully realized at any one particul,ar môment in

l time:-a recognition substantiated by the obviously open . i ~~~ ended nature of Engel' s wri t.ing. 7 Of all her protagonists. ri; ~ only Joanne and Lou are able to adjus~ the recurrent pat- -,' 1 J teTn of their lives to meet the new insights gained into 1 \ 1 \ the transitional quality of their identities. By sO\doing, they remain in a constant state of becoming, a condition which allows them the frèedom to experience aIl the pos- , sibilities which the gelf offers when accepted as an \ \ entity beyond the bounds of ultimate definition. ( \ \

;;;_..:'3

\. \ ~

~I \ \ "~ .. .

'\ '" ~/' \ , \

\ 85 /

FOOTNOTES, CHAPTER IV \

\ lCharles 1. Glicksberg, Modern W'-terature and the \ Death of God (The Hague 1 Marti us Nijhoff. 1966), p. 28. , ,

~ 2Engel' s use of metaPhot ta reinforce the nature of her protagonists' identiti~s ls discussed in Chaptèr II. pp. 27.,..~8. 1 ~

of \ JEngel's use purposefully fraernentary, episodic \ and loosely structure~ plpts to reinforc~ the e of her protagonists' identities 18 discussed in Chapter l, p. 40.

4wylie Sypher, LOGS of the Self in Modern Litera ture and Art (New York: Alfred A. Knopf,. Inc. t 1962) t p. 28.

5Glicksbert~t QB.. 'ci t., p. 142.

6The nature of the journey of the cofitëmporary li terary hero is discussed in Chapter l, pp. 8-1~:

7The open-ended nature of Engel's writing ls dis cussed in Chapter III, p. 71. \

•

\ \ \ ,'h \

\ \ \ \ \, \ i , ,

(

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