Chang-Rae Lee's The Surrendered is a novel primarily
concerned with trauma, and the associated symptoms and manifestations of trauma
within a human existence. The three primary characters, Hector, June, and
Sylvie, each exhibit both a symptom and a manifestation of their individual
traumas. Hector is an immortal alcoholic. June is a cancer ridden addict. And
Sylvie is a barren addict. For each, the symptom is an addiction, and the
manifestation is a negotiation of life, on life’s terms.
These traumas
function as sites in which the language fails. Or, blank spots in the
narrative. Lee, of course, assigns language to them through his own creative
authority, but what is left off the page is the language of connection. In
other words, the language which effectively connects each character’s symptom
and manifestation within their own arc is not explicit within the narrative.
These malignant manifestations of life (Hector’s immortality, June’s cancer,
and Sylvie’s barrenness) offer a three part view into the problems associated
with the loss of a loved one at an early age. This initial loss which defines
their respective back-stories is the obvious
thread which binds these characters. However, in this traumatic space, we
assume that these characters understand each other in a way that perhaps a
broader audience may not. While this may be true, the novel calls attention to
a more nuanced connection shared by these three characters through the negotiation
of their individual symptoms and manifestations of their individual trauma. But
more importantly, what is left out of the overall narrative is the subliminal
connection shared by Hector, June, and Sylvie.
I would argue, this
ineffable connection present in The
Surrendered is the language of intimacy. Often, we think of intimate
language to be that of lovers’ pillow talk, or the like. While this may be true
at times, it is clear that Lee’s characters lack the ability to engage in this
kind of communication. This inability to establish a stable connection is
evident when Hector and Dora find themselves in a domestic sphere. This brief
glimpse into a “normal” life leaves them expressing sentiments more to the tune
of small talk, than opening a space of vulnerability which allows for true
intimacy to take shape between two beings. At one point Dora even says to
Hector, “’We’re like an old married couple” but she is “careful to mock the
idea in case he took it wrongly” (282). This quick imagining that they are,
might be, or could be normal is undermined by her tone which suggests she is
unwilling to open herself to a true space of vulnerability. Here, Dora and
Hector remain at a safe distance from each other. They perform and imagine a
life which exists beyond the space of the novel, but cannot flourish within it.
To further distance Hector from a space of intimacy the following scene which concludes
in Dora’s untimely death interrupts that imagined trajectory and reminds Hector
again, of his own immortality.
Hector and Dora’s
relationship is similar to that of June and Sylvie’s as it is revealed late in the
novel, when “one night June could not help herself; she pulled back the blanket
[and] undid the mother-of-pearl buttons that ran down to the hem…exposing the
whole length of Sylvie…June’s hand slid down and nestled in the burning cup of
her long legs” (346). This scene concludes the chapter, and the narrative is
not continued within this space and time for another forty pages. Thus, Lee suspends the narrative, and for
forty pages, the audience proceeds with caution. The natural inclination of the
reader is to fill in the blank space, but Lee actually creates a gap in the
temporal trajectory of the shift in June and Sylvie’s narrative to make space
for Hector. When we are allowed to return, the explanations are vague, dreamy,
and disconnected. June “didn’t dare ask if she could stay overnight again, not
wanting to remind Sylvie in the least of what might have happened” (387). Then,
the situation is questioned, “For what had happened? [June] wasn’t sure
herself, save for the imprint of Sylvie’s body on her hands…it was only at
night…when she was on the threshold of slumber herself, that a seam of pressure
pushed up through the trunk of her body, this ache coursing through her arm and
to her hand, and which made her reach again for Sylvie, though there was only herself”
(388). June’s extended imagining complicates the clarity of the initial sense
of intimacy between June and Sylvie. And, any true form of intimacy shared
between the two must be imagined off the page, because, ultimately, we are left
only with June and a fantasy about Sylvie.
While these
moments in the text reveal failed attempts at intimate connections, the
connection between intimacy and trauma is at once more important, and more
difficult to attend to. However, once it is made clear that these character
flaws are intrinsically linked, it will be easier to understand the ways in which
the language of trauma is withheld from the narrative throughout. To begin, I
would argue that the intimate disconnect is a result of the symptoms of the
trauma that I highlighted earlier. The addiction that each character negotiates
functions as the surface symptom of their attempt to negotiate their own trauma
within the frame of each narrative trajectory. Whether the addiction is alcohol
or morphine matters not. What is more important is the way in which recovery
from addiction often works.
The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous offers
some insight into this fundamental disconnect of intimacy which occurs in the
space of trauma and addiction. The Big
Book begins with “Bill’s Story.” The very first line reads, “War fever ran
high in the New England town to which we new, young officers from Plattsburg
were assigned, and we were flattered when the first citizens took us to their
homes, making us feel heroic” (1). Here, the first member of Alcoholics
Anonymous shares his story, and at the outset we can see lines of similarity
between him and the characters of Lee’s The
Surrendered. For Bill W., it was the war that brought him the bottle. He
admits, he felt heroic. Bill recounts his interaction with alcohol in a
post-war landscape. But his experience outside the war is no less combative or
desolate. He recalls his futile interactions with his wife, his loss of jobs,
and homes. He lives a life of chaos, which seems to fall around him, with him
at the center of all the destruction in his life.
Later, Bill recalls a friend who came to visit
him. Bill offers the man a drink, and the friend declines. Of course, Bill is
baffled by this refusal, but he listens intently as the friend proselytizes; “He
talked for hours. Childhood memories fore before me… these recollections welled
up from the past. They made me swallow hard. That war-time day in old Winchester
Cathedral came back again” (10). Here, in a discussion of alcohol abuse and abstinence,
Bill W. listens to a friend whom he trusts. And the nature of the conversation
drives Bill’s memories back to the war, where one could argue his trauma
manifested itself into a form of self-abuse, resulting in a psychological and
physiological need to drink. This is echoes the sentiments of Lee’s opening to
the third chapter of his novel where Hector’s narrative is introduced, “War is
a stern teacher” (61). For both Bill W, and Hector, the trauma of war followed
them as they held a bottle filled with disconnect and discontent.
While The Surrendered may not be exclusively
or explicitly a novel about an alcoholic, it is clearly a novel in which one of
its main characters is an alcoholic, or problem drinker. Like Bill W., Hector’s
alcoholism functions as a manifestation of his wartime traumas. The same then, can be said to be true of both
Sylvie and June who abuse opiates. However, the primary difference between Bill
W. and Lee’s characters is that Bill’s story is a story of recovery, whereas
Lee’s characters never seem to get to the other side of their addiction. But if
we are to think of them in a pre-recovery space, the chaos and control which
these characters negotiate aligns them quite perfectly with the diagnostic
paradigms revealed through Bill’s story and The
Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Chapter two, “There is a Solution,”
offers this insight into recovery through the Alcoholics Anonymous model which
states; “We are people who normally would not mix. But there exists among us a
fellowship, a friendliness, and an understanding which is indescribably
wonderful…The feeling of having shared in a common peril is one element in the
powerful cement which binds us. But that in itself would never have held us
together as we are now joined” (17). This ‘powerful cement’ is the act of
intimacy imbedded in the completion of the 12-step program which Alcoholics
Anonymous developed and adapted for all who have suffered from a
self-destructive existence steeped in compulsive behaviors that are rooted in a
pervasive and debilitating need to control one’s environment. The Twelve Steps of
Alcohlics Anonymous are:
1.)
We admitted we were powerless over alcohol-that
our lives had become unmanageable.
2.)
Came to believe that a power greater than
ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3.)
Made a decision to turn our will and our lives
over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4.)
Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of
ourselves.
5.)
Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another
human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6.)
Were entirely ready to have God remove all these
defects of character
7.)
Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8.)
Made a list of persons we had harmed and became
willing to make amends to them all
9.)
Made direct amends to such people wherever
possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10.) Continued to take personal inventory and when
we were wrong promptly admitted it.
11.) Sought through prayer and meditation to
improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for
knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12.) Having had a spiritual awakening as a result
of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice
these principles in all our affairs (59-60).
It is important to see the steps in
relation to each other, and to garner a full understanding of the function of
the program. However, in this case I am most concerned with steps One, Three, Four,
and Five.
Step
One asks that the afflicted admit that they ‘are powerless over alcohol and that
their lives have become unmanageable.’ In performing this, the alcoholic is
opening himself to the possibility of a life without the need to control his
environment. This relinquishing of control then, provides the space for the
chaos associated with it to settle. Step Three asks that the alcoholic make a ‘decision
to turn their will and their lives over to the care of God.’ This is a lesson
in surrender, that which Lee’s characters are often preoccupied with throughout
the novel. Step Four asks that each person make a ‘searching and fearless moral
inventory.’ This inventory surfaces the ways the alcoholic has interacted with
the world around them. The act of making this inventory is introspective, and
provides the details necessary for the addict to recover. Finally, Step Five
asks that the addict admits ‘to God, to [them]selves, and to another human
being the exact nature of [their] wrongs.’ This functions as the foundation upon
which the addict is able to understand intimacy. This connection between
similar people, shared for their mutual benefit. Consequently, Lee’s characters
lack the language of intimacy, because they have not yet recovered from their
trauma, or its symptoms. Rather, their trauma continues to manifest beyond the
psychological realm and into the physiological realm as represented by June’s
Cancer, Sylvie’s infertility, and Hector’s immortality.
The
physical ailments suffered by both June and Sylvie can be read as obvious physical
malignances of their experiences as revealed through their narrative
trajectory. June’s cancer is aligned with her starving childhood. Sylvie’s
infertility results from her promiscuity. But Hector’s immortality, at the
surface, seems to be a gift of life rather than a loss of it. However, I would
argue that this immortality must be read through Hector’s perception of his own
magical qualities, and that is that he is doomed for more suffering, because
his body will not concede to his desire to let go of life. For Hector, life can
resume after he dies, but his failure to die becomes his bane, and functions,
for him, like June’s cancer and Sylvie’s infertility. In other words, it adds
to his misery in a physical way, and it extends beyond his control. Again, this
need for control is aligned with the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous. At the
start of each meeting, members recite the Serenity Prayer which asks: “God,
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. The Courage to change
the things I can. And the Wisdom to know the difference.” This is often
reiterated with the simple sentiment that one “accepts life on life’s terms.”
This is at once a surrender to our human existence, as well as acknowledgment that
we are limited by our human understanding. Because these characters do not seek
to recover from their traumatic past, their bodies manifest these ailments
which reveal their own mortality. Even if, for Hector, it seems he is immortal.
His perceived immortality is actually a form of constant suffering resulting
from his failure to surrender and connect to the world in an intimate way.
Finally,
Lee titles the book THE Surrendered.
This small, and simple linguistic trick offers insight into the way the novel
may be intended to be received. By attaching the article “the” to the word
surrendered, the audience subconsciously registers “surrendered” as a noun, not
a verb. This is not a story about those who have been surrendered, or seek to
surrender. Rather, the book itself functions as the surrendering of these
characters in an attempt to establish an intimate connection beyond the pages
of the novel. The audience becomes the vessel of connection. The audience, in
this way, functions similarly to the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. That
is to say, we fill in the gaps in the narrative where the language of intimacy
fails. We extend the narrative, and we establish a redeeming intimacy with
these traumatic narratives. The book itself is The Surrendered object which contains the stories of Hector, June
and Sylvie. The characters themselves cannot give themselves over to one
another, but Lee places their stories in the hands of many who are able to
identify with and construct for them a more intimate past. This then, I would
argue functions as a promise to the characters contained within the novel
similar to The Promises of Alcoholics Anonymous:
We are going to know a new freedom and a
new happiness. We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We
will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far
down the scale we have gone, we will see how our story can benefit others. That
feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear. We will lose interest in
selfish things and gain interest in our fellows. Self-seeking will slip away.
Our whole attitude and outlook on life will change. Fear of people and economic
insecurity will leave us. We will intuitively know how to handle situations
that used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what
we could not do for ourselves.
Are these extravagant promises? We think
not. They are being fulfilled among us--sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.
They will always materialize if we work for them (83-84).
Lee has done the
work for them. He has written them in a way that projects them out of their
existence bound in trauma. He provides a narrative of characters that beg to be
redeemed. But this redemption relies on the reception of their stories by their
audiences. For Hector, June, and Sylvie, life is wrought with trauma and
tragedy, but outside the novel, we are able to recognize the symptoms and
manifestations of those traumas. Furthermore, we are able to rectify their
failed intimate connections within the narrative by intimately connecting them
outside of it. The book itself which contains their stories is the surrendered
object.
By engaging the lens of recovery
from addiction, we are able to more closely examine relationship between chaos
and control. Furthermore, the symptoms and manifestations that result from
personal trauma in the book provide an added insight into the failure of the
characters to negotiate their own trauma in a constructive and healthy way.
Thus, by examining the intertextual elements shared by the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous and Lee’s character arcs presented
in The Surrendered we are able to understand
and negotiate the relationship between failed intimacy and trauma. Ultimately,
the failure to engage intimately is intrinsically linked to their failure to
articulate their own trauma. One last incantation of Alcoholics Anonymous
provides a look into the way in which the language failure problematizes the
connections that the characters cannot make. “How it Works,” recited at the
opening of every meeting declares:
Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly
followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely
give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are
constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such
unfortunates, they are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They
are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which
demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those,
too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do
recover if they have the capacity to be honest (58).
For Hector, June
and Sylvie, their trauma has limited their ability to be honest with
themselves. Yet, Lee writes painstakingly honest portraits of their lives.
These characters are “such unfortunates,” in their own narrative trajectories.
Nonetheless, the shape that they take beyond the page functions as the space
where they are given over. Their capacity to be honest is limited to their
reception by their audience based on the information that Lee provides.
Thankfully, Lee creates the object by which they are surrendered, and relieved
of their maladies.
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