Journal of the Short Story in English Les Cahiers de la nouvelle 45 | Autumn 2005 Varia The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” Michel Feith Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/jsse/447 ISSN: 1969-6108 Publisher Presses universitaires de Rennes Printed version Date of publication: 1 September 2005 Number of pages: 95-111 ISSN: 0294-04442 Electronic reference Michel Feith, « The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” », Journal of the Short Story in English [Online], 45 | Autumn 2005, Online since 01 September 2005, connection on 03 December 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/jsse/447 This text was automatically generated on 3 December 2020. © All rights reserved The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” 1 The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” Michel Feith 1 The climactic confrontation between O.E. Parker and his wife Sarah Ruth, at the end of the short story, boils down a conflict between word and image. Parker the tatooed man has just come back home with a final picture on his back, of a Byzantine Jesus, which he hopes will bring his puritanical wife to heel. But the result falls cruelly short of the intent: “God? God don’t look like that!” What do you know how he looks?” Parker moaned. “You ain’t seen him.” “He don’t look, ” Sarah Ruth said. “He’s a spirit. No man shall see his face.” “Aw listen,” Parker groaned, “this is just a picture of him.” “Idolatry!” Sarah Ruth screamed. (1990: 529) 2 The debate between the iconoclasm of a certain form of Protestant fundamentalism and a more Catholic view, in which images are part of the apostolic tradition and can be seen as devotional aids, exceeds the mere religious settling of accounts which surfaces here and there in O'Connor stories. It also acquires the dimension of a self-reflexive probing of the nature of the work of art, especially of literary representation. After all, the reader is presented with the verbal condemnation of a visual item accessible only through written description. This hints at the iconicity of O’Connor’s storytelling art, which has often been described as “dramatic” and “visionary”. It is also reminiscent of the definition she herself gave of her “incarnational art”, deriving its principles from the Christian doctrine of Incarnation (the Word made flesh) and articulating a theory of language and the relations between verbal representation and the created world (both “real” and “fictional”). 3 Since “Parker’s Back” is, concurrently with “Judgement Day”, O’Connor’s last story, one cannot help viewing it as an ideological and aesthetic testament, revolving around a negociation between Word and Icon. The icon here is more than a mere image. The first meaning of the term is that of a religious painting, of the kind found in Orthodox Journal of the Short Story in English, 45 | Autumn 2005 The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” 2 churches, for example, and endowed with some of the sacred quality of what it represents. It is then hardly surprising that the model for the tattoo should be the “haloed head of a flat stern Byzantine Christ with all-demanding eyes” (522), identified by some commentators as that of the Pantocrator Christ at Santa Sophia, in Constantinople. The notion of “verbal icon ”, coined in 1954 by the critic W. K. Wimsatt, alludes to the fashion in which the New Critics, whom O’Connor was intellectually very close to, stressed the autonomy of the poem, as an object of serious, spiritual contemplation (Gray 142). From the religious icon represented in the text, we therefore move to the text as icon, in a self-reflexive mise-en-abîme of the strong visual dimension of the whole of O’Connor’s œuvre, insofar as it concentrates meaning in an “anagogical” way. 4 Parker's tattoo symbolically stands at the intersection of all these levels of interpretation, since it is at the same time an image and a (needlework) piece of writing; it also represents the Incarnation of the sacred on the body and skin. Its clarity and rather celebratory nature might hint at a hypothetical new development in the writer's art, “the impossible Flannery” we will never be able to read. 5 We might take as a guide through the complexity of the story and its significance, its deceptively simple title. “Parker’s Back” denotatively alludes to the main focus of attention, the protagonist’s anatomical back, where the final, controversial tattoo will be imprinted. This is overdetermined by Parker's sense of someone always being behind him, at his back: “Long views depressed Parker. You look out into space like that and you begin to feel as if someone were after you, the navy or the government or religion” (516). Yet another configuration obtains if we shift the grammatical interpretation of the “’s” from a possessive case to a verb form. The meaning would then be “Parker IS Back”, “Parker has returned”; and truly, there are two such circular trajectories in the text. Parker first went out to sea, and came back to the South of his childhood; then, within the chronological scope of our story, he leaves home after his tractor accident to get his new tattoo, and comes back home to his wife in the last pages. A variation on this adverbial meaning of “back” is provided by the text on page 522, when the Christ on the tattoo artist’s catalogue calls to him to “Go back”: back to the right page, but also back home, or even back to the fold of the Redeemed? This is the most important “back” in Parker's life, and may encapsulate a form of reading contract. Our own attempt to respect its terms will take the form of an analysis of Parker’s Odyssey (his coming backs), then an examination of the skin of Parker's back as textual palimpsest, and finally a consideration of the entanglements of Word and Icon in the story. Parker’s Odyssey 6 Two characteristics seem to single Parker out from most of the other protagonists in Flannery O’Connor’s fiction: he is an active agent in a full-fledged quest, and he is, rather than meets, an Incarnational symbol. 7 Even though the plots of the stories and novels have sometimes been interpreted in terms of quest (Gordon 93-96), many of the characters appear to be rather passive and have their revelations or encounters with Fate “coming to them”. Asbury in “The Enduring Chill”, Julian in “Everything That Rises Must Converge”, General Sash in “A Late Encounter With the Enemy”, or Hulga / Joy in “Good Country People” might have Journal of the Short Story in English, 45 | Autumn 2005 The Stained-Glass Man: Word and Icon in Flannery O'Connor’s “Parker's Back.” 3 unconscious desires for the shattering falls they experience, yet they seem to be wishing and waiting more than actively pursuing some sort of cathartic experience. Some characters actually run away from their felt destiny, like Mr. Shiftlet at the end of “The Life You Save May Be your Own”, or Hazel Motes in Wise Blood. The latter seems to be O. E. Parker’s closest prototype: his excursus to the Army and the war parallels Parker’s stint with the Navy and his self-blinding bears the same stamp of corporeal stigmata. Yet if Parker revisits Motes’s trajectory, he does so through a more positive desire for fulfillment, and converts his predecessor’s Oedipal blindness into a contact with light. 8 Other characters, who appears to be engaged in more active pursuits, are actually misdirected, and find what they were not looking for. The Grandmother in “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” finds death while searching for memories of her youth; Harry / Bevel confuses a literal for a symbolic quest of the Kingdom of God in “The River”. Yet the latter might also be a close prototype of Parker, in the sense that both their quests for a “painted” haven have led them to the real thing. 9 While most characters, therefore, could be compared either to the biblical Jonah fleeing from his calling, or to Job, complaining about his sad, crippled life, Parker would be closer to Ulysses, and his travels to an Odyssey. Both have circumnavigated the known world and come back home, Parker retaining from each stopover one more tattoo, like a map of his peregrinations written on the skin. The “foreign parts” mentioned on page 512 are both the countries he visited and the new additions to his body. The prime mobile of his wanderlust is a deep-rooted dissatisfaction, which finds its medication in the brief solace of each new tattoo. As in the case of Ulysses, his wanderings are a curse as well as a quest. 10 In this somewhat playful mythical configuration, Sarah Ruth, the waiting wife, is hardly a Penelope. If a courtship conducted by means of bushels of apples (515) can remind the reader of the story of Adam and Eve (an inverted, hillbilly scenario of the Fall as a hint to the bride’s sour Puritanism — Blaikasten 13), or of Paris’s choice of Venus in the prologue of the Illiad (Pothier 141 — in this case the Trojan War may be echoed in the couple’s domestic discords), the aptest parallel of Parker’s ununderstandable attraction to this woman might be a parody of Ulysses’s enthralment by Cice, here converted into an unenchanting enchantress.