Alice Munro, Save the Reaper.
From Munro’s short story
collection, For the Love of a Good Woman
What is this story about?
-
Grandmother
takes her grandchildren on a dangerous journey
-
Lifetime of
bad decisions and their consequences. Also note grandmother's preoccupation with corn
o Fraught mother
daughter relationships
§
Can you trust
your mother?
§
Mistakes of
one mother’s past come back to haunt the present and perhaps/probably the
future
§
Family leaves
town and gets mixed up with strangers (opposite of a stranger comes to town)
§
Plans gone
astray.
Story asks the question and ultimately answers it: Is this grandmother, Eve,
a reliable babysitter to young children?
Page 1: Story starts mise in scene, grandmother taking her
grandchildren and going on a journey. It turns out to be a dangerous journey.
·
Story starts
in the middle of a car ride and a game. We are told the rules of the game.
·
Story proceeds like a nightmare, stakes raised
in car ride and then again when family goes to drug den
Questions raised about the protagonist, the grandmother Eve.
Is she a bad grandmother and a bad mother? (She is tempted like original Eve.)
·
Is grandmother addled by dementia or just fault
decision making ability (impetuousness and impulsivity)?
·
Grandmother hadn’t been invited to daughter’s
wedding,
·
Daughter Sophie leaves suddenly---son tells
Grandma that she has actually asked her husband to come pick her up. Story is
about betrayal, secrets carried by children
-
Page 1: Stakes are raised at beginning of story
when we realize that Grandma Eve has turned the power of the game over to the
7-year old Philip. She lets him make key decisions---always a bad idea.
o
“What Eve had originally planned was to have
the headquarters turn out to be in the village store that sold ice cream. But
Philip had taken charge so thoroughly that now it was hard to manage the
outcome. The pickup truck was turning off the paved country road onto a
graveled side road. It was a decrepit truck with no topper, its body eaten by
rust---it would not be going far. Home to some farm, most likely. They might
not meet another vehicle to switch to before the destination was reached.”
-
Page 1: Eve
has tried to do right by her daughter, rented a house, house is full of
foreboding:
“Twelve days, Eve thought. Twelve days had
passed of the three weeks. She had to take the house for a mouth. It was a
cramped little house, fixed up on the cheap for summer rental. Eve’s idea had
been to get a lakeside cottage for the holiday---Sophie and Phillip’s first
visit with her in nearly five years and Daisy’s first ever. She had settle don
this stretch of Lake Huron shore because her parents used to bring her here
with her brother, when they were children. Things had changed---the cottages
were all like suburban houses, and the rents were out of sight. This house,
half a mile inland from the rocky, unfavored north end of the usable beach, had
been the best she could manage. It stood in the middle of a cornfield. She had
told the children what her father had once told her---that at night you could
her the corn growing. When she too the sheets off the line she had to shake out
the corn bugs.
Page 2: Grandmother troubled by daughter's behavior/recent turn of events: “And the burning question was: Who did the
phoning?”
Page 2: Secret revealed and tension
raised, Eve questions Philip in car:
“Wasn’t it a big surprise when your dad phoned from California?
He didn’t phone. My mom phoned him.
Did she? Oh, I didn’t know. What did
she say.
She said, “I can’t stand it here, I’m
sick of it, let’s figure out some plan to get me away.” “
Pages 2-3: Mother-child/Eve-Sophie relationship
detailed subtly with hidden potholes:
“And from then until now it had not been feasible for Eve to get to
California. Invitations to visit had not been all that urgent, or even
specific. Sophie had walked out of Eve’s household a girl student with a
toddling son---a winter-pale gale, harassed but high spirited---and come back a
self contained full boddied married woman with two children, a creamed-coffee
skin and lilac cescents of a permanent mild fatigue beneath her eyes.Also with
a certain aversion to memories of the life she’d shared with Eve, of her blithe
childhood (as Eve called it), or her adventurous days as a young mother. During
this visit they ahd maintained a pleasant puttering routine of morning chores,
beach afternoons, wine and movies
Page 3: Flashback on to Eve’s childhood/very
specific memories and gorgeous, unnerving writing about childhood memories and fraught mother-daughter relationships :
“When Eve was quite small and wore a great hair bow
on her head, she was fond of these country expeditions. She ate tiny jam tarts
and cakes whose frosting was stiff on top and soft underneath, topped with a
bleeding maraschino cherry. She was not allowed to touch the dishes or the
lace-and-satin pinch-cushions or the sallow looking old dolls and the women’s
conversations passed over hear head with a temporary and mildly depressing
effect, like the inevitable clouds. But she enjoyed riding in the back seat,
imagining herself on horseback or in a royal coach. Later on she refused to go.
She began to hate trailing along with her mother and being identified as her
mother’s daughter. My daughter Eva. How richly condescending, and mistakenly
possessive, that voice sounded in her ears. (She herself would use it, or some
version of it, for years as a staple in in some of her broadest, least accomplished
acting.) She also detested her mother’s habit of wearing large hats and gloves
in the country, and sheer dresses on which were raised flowers, like scabs. The
oxford shoes, on the other hand---worn to favor her mother’s corns---appeared
embarassingly stout and shabby. “What did you hate most about your mother?”
was a game that Even would play with her friends in her first years free of
home. “Corsets,” one girl would say, and another said, “Wet aprons.” Hairnets.
Fat arms. Bible quotations. The way she sang “Danny Boy,” Eve always said. Her
corns.
Page 4 Gateposts become elevated objects, lodged in
Eve’s memory:
“Eve drove on all the same but as she passed the
lane she noticed the gateposts. They were unusal, being shaped something like
crude minarets and decorated with whitewashed pebbles and bits of colored
glass. Neither of them was straight, and they were half hidden by goldenrod and
wild carrot, so that they had lost all reality as gateposts and looked, instead
like abandoned stage props from some gaudy operetta. The minute Eve saw them
she remembered something else---a whitewashed outdoor wall in which pictures
were set. The pictures were stiff, fantastic childish scenes. Churches with
spires, castles with towers, square houses with square lopsided yellow windows.
Triangular Christmas trees and tropical colored birds half as big as the trees,
a fat horse with dinky legs and burning red eyes, curly blue rivers of
unvarying width, like lengths of ribbon, a moon and drunken stars and fat
sunflowers nodding over the roofs of houses. All this made of pieces of colored
glass set into cement, or plaster. She had seen it, and it wasn’t in any public
place. It was out I the country, and she was with her mother. The shape of her
mother loomed in front of the wall---she was talking to an old farmer. HE might
only have been her mother’s age, of course, and just looked old to Eve.
Page 4 great description of trees/nature
“They went to look at odd things on those trips;
they didn’t just look at antiques. They had gone to see a shrug cut to resemble
a bear, and an orchard of dwarf apple trees.
She
didn’t remember the gateposts at all, but it seemed to her that they could not
have belonged to any other place. She backed the car up and around into
the narrow track beneath the trees. The trees were heavy old Scotch pines,
probably dangerous---you could see dangling daed and half dead branches, and
branches that had already blown or fallen down were lying in the grass and
weeds on either side of the track. The car rocked back and forth in the ruts,
and it seemed that Daisy approved of the motion.
Page 5: End of Act 1, scary house beckons. Great,
slowly revealed, haunting image concluding with, “She was in the wrong place”:
“There wasn’t any sign of a house ahead, but through
a gap in the trees the skeleton of a barn rose up, walls gone, beams intact,
roof whole but flopping to one side like a funny hat. There seemed to be pieces
of machinery, old cars ,or trucks scattered around it, in the sea of flowering
weeds. Eve didn’t have much leisure to look---she was busy controlling the car
on this rough track. The green truck had disappeared ahead of her---how far
could it have gone? Then she saw the lane curved. It curved and they lef the
shade of the pines and were out in the sunlight. The same sea foam of wild
carrot, the same impression of rusting junk strewn about, a high wild hedge to
one side, and there was the house, finally, behind it. A big house, two stories
of yellowish-gray brick, another story of wood, its dormer windows stuffed
with dirty foam rubber. One of the lower windows shown with the tinfoiled that
covered it on the inside.
She had
come to the wrong place.
Page 6 Philip yells at her not to get out of the
car. (Where is other grandchild Daisy in all this?) Child sounds the alarm and the adult
doesn’t heed it.
Eve unbuckled her seat belt.
Don’t get out, Philip said in a shrill voice. Stay
int eh car. Turn around. Drive way.
I can’t, said Eve. It’s all right. That dog’s just
a yapper---he won’t hurt me.
Don’t get out.
She should never have let the game get so far out
of control. Philip was too excitable. This isn’t part of the game, she said.
He’s just a man.
I know, said Philip. But don’t get out.
Stop that, Eve said, and got ouf and shut the door.
Page 7 they enter into a hellish place, den of
inequity/crack house? two small grandchildren in tow
Daisy squealed with fright and pleasure---she was
the one who more of an animal lover---and somehow they were all en route to the
house, Even carrying Daisy and Philip and Trixie scrambling around her up some
earthen bumps that had once been porch steps. The man came close behind them,
smell of the beer that he must have been drinking in the truck…
“Massive disorder was what they had to make their
way through---the kind that takes years to accumulate. The bottom layer of it
made up of chairs and tables and couches and perhaps a stove or two, with old
bedclothes and newspapers and window shades and dead potted plants and ends of
lumber and empty bottles and broken lighting fixtures and curtain rods piled on
top of that, up to the ceiling in some places, blocking nearly all the light
from outside. To make up for that, a light was burning by the inside door.
Page 8 Great, unnerving description of haunted house, full of chaos and smells and disturbing sights. This is no place for children but grandmother goes in anyway:
“The man shifted the beer and got the door open and
shouted for Harold. It was hard to tell what sort of room they were in
now---there were kitchen cupboards with the doors open, some cans on the
shelves, but there were also a couple of cots with bare mattresses and rumpled
blankets. The windows were so successfully covered up with furniture or hanging
quilts that you couldn’t tell where they were, and the smell was that of a jun
store, a plugged sink, or maybe a plugged toilet, of cooking and grease and
cigarettes and human sweat and dog mess and unremoved garbage.
Page 8 Tension rises, someone curses and kicks the
dog:
“Fuck. Get that dog out of here.
“Lady here wants to see some pictures,” the little
man said. Trixie whined in pain---somebody had kicked her. Eve had no choice
but to go in the room.
…
The little man hauled Trixie out from under the
table and threw her into the outer room, then closed the door behind Eve and
the children.
Page 9 Tension continues to rise---one man naked,
dining room hot, the men drinking whiskey, one man asks Philip if he can play
the piano:
“Sitting with his back to the door was a young man
with sharp shoulders and a delicate neck. At least Eve assumed he was young,
because he wore his hair in dyed golden spikes and had gold rings in his ears.
He didn’t turn around. The man across from him was as old as Eve herself, and
had a shaved head, a tidy gray beard, and bloodshot blue eyes, He looked at Eve
without any friendliness, but with some intelligence or comprehension, and in
this he was unlike the tatttooed man, who had looked at her with as if she were
some kind of hallucination that he had decided to ignore.
At the end of the table, in the host’s or the
father’s chair, sat the man who had given the order to close the door, but who
hadn’t looked up or otherwise paid any attention to the interruption. He was large boned, fat, pale man with
sweaty brown curls, and as far as Eve cold tell, he was entirely naked. The
tattooed man and the blond man were wearing jeans, and the gray bearded man
was wearing jeans and a checked shirt buttoned up to the neck and a string tie.
There were glasses and bottles on the table. The man in the host’s chair---he
must be Harold---and the gray bearded
man were drinking whiskey. The other two were drinking beer.
…
“The
tattooed man whistled. “Hey you,” he said to Philip. “Hey you. Can you play the
piano?
…
Page 9: Gross, horrifying thought and smell, especially in view of fact that children are in the room:
“She thought, There is a smell of semen in this
room.”
Page 11 (page 13) Person jumps into her
car/stranger comes to tow:n
She was driving so slowly that it was possible---easy
for a figure to rise up out of the tall weeds on the passenger side of the car
and open the door, which Eve had not though to lock, and jump in.
Page 15 Prostitute/girl makes a move on Eve
“Eve had never believed herself to be attracted to women
in a sexual way…
“Of course, Eve said brightly, and the hand trailed
away, its whore’s courtesy finished. But it had not failed altogether. Blatant
and halfhearted as it was, it had been enough to set some old wires twitching.
And the fact that it could be effective in any way filled Eve with misgiving,
flung a shadow from this moment over, all the rowdy and impulsive, as well as
all the hopeful and serious, the more or less repented of, couplings of her
life. Not a real flareup of shame, a sense of sin---just a shadow. What a joke
on her, if she started to hanker now, after a purer past and cleaner slate.
No. It was possible that she just hankered after love.
Page 15 Flashback/story of Sophie’s father/Eve’s
affair on the train with a married man from India, sort of lovely oasis in the
middle of tension filled story, but also shows Eve’s extravagance and
impulsiveness:
Page 16 Tension rises, girl in the car asks for
money
“How stupid to think about sex when the reality, the
danger, was elsewhere.”
Page 16: Then Eve does the stupidest thing
possible: She gives the girl a $20 bill and tells her where she lives. Tension continues to rise:
“It’s all by itself in
the middle of a field. It’s got one ordinary window on one side of the front
door and a funny looking little window on the other. That’s where they put in
the bathroom.”
Philip notes she
smells like vomit."
Page 17 Last page, stress inducing paragraph:
There are people who carry decency and optimism
around them, who seem to cleanse every atmosphere they settle in, and you can’t
tell such people things, it is too disruptive. Ian struck Eve as being one of
those people, in spite of his present graciousness, and Sophie as being someone
who thanked her lucky stars that she had found him. Eve could say that the house had smelled vile, and that the owner and his friends looked boozy and
disreputable, but not that Harold was naked and never that she had been afraid.
And never what she had been afraid of."
Page 17 Last paragraph is full of stress and
foreboding
Not tonight but tomorrow night Eve would like down
in this hollowed out house, its broad walls like a paper shell around her. She
would will herself to grow light, free of consequence, and hope to go to sleep
with nothing in her head but the deep, live rustle of the corn.
The Lady of Shalott (1842)
Part I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd
Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to
Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to
Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd
Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
Part II
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to
Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to
Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from
Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd
Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to
Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed:
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
Part III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to
Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to
Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still
Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to
Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to
Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The
Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance—
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to
Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd
Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The
Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at
Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of
Shalott."
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