“Sure at length that he was remote from all observation, he pressed into a little copse, and there reclined on the grass, leaning against the stem of a tree.”
To me, this book is so much about depression, the basic needs of life and the power of the mind. So many of the characters need help and have nowhere to turn to find it or are expected by society and circumstances to take care of it themselves. If only there were a Biffen for Biffen in his time of need like there was for Reardon.
In this scene, nature has returned. The heath, the sky, the moon, the trees. The writing broadens and becomes more poetic. It’s the closest Gissing gets to alluding to a spiritual power.
“He had now only one pupil, and was not exerting himself to find others; his old energy had forsaken him.” First reading I thought Biffen had a money problem, but when I reread, I realized this was a crisis of spirit. The realist facing the reality of his life as a struggling writer.
In Buddhism desire is the source of suffering. Biffen intuited that following his unrequited love at 23, and protected himself afterward by eliminating the desire - "... his loneliness only became intolerable when a beautiful woman had smiled upon him, and forced him to dream perpetually of that supreme joy of life which to him was forbidden."
The "fatal days" were those that gave him access to Amy - "... after that hour of intimate speech with Amy, he never again knew rest of mind or heart." The smallest things about her became unbearable - "... her voice was so cruel in its conventional warmth."
His intellectual pursuits became inadequate raison d'être. Finally, "night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting."
I'll add here that current terminology favors "completing a suicide" vs "committing suicide," to remove some of the stigma. Biffen deserves that.
This Tempest quote shows how much Gissing is in love with literature (not all writers are). I think that whenever I see and hear echoes (as well as outright allusions) in this work.
As for the requirement to tell a story -- hmmm. This is something that comes up in my in-person book club a fair bit. I favor digressions / character portraits / original voice in the books I like. Most of the group loves a good yarn. This book has both.
A poignant adieu to Biffen (an ethereal presence dissipates –into a netherworld; realism is untenable in the end –so sad!):
“Only he who belonged to no class, who was rejected alike by his fellows in privation and by his equals in intellect, must die without having known the touch of a loving woman’s hand.”
“[W]hen he lay down in darkness a hopeful summons whispered to him. Night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting.” / “Turning from the contemplation of life’s one rapture, he looked with the same intensity of desire to a state that had neither fear nor hope.”
I am moved by Yiyun's wondering whether "the reason that literature still lives on is not because of people’s strong convictions, but despite them…" Indeed, for me the ineffable draw/power of literature is the way in which it opens new worlds/experiences/ideas that invite/compel you to wander around in the muck of your convictions, and emerge with less clarity, new questions, and increased empathy toward others. Case in point: these past 35 days; it has been a gift to share thoughts, questions, musings with all of you - those who bring life to literature, and in turn enrich quotidian moments of "real" life.
I am remembering Biffen's splendid line to Edwin when the latter was in the pit of despair: "The art of living is the art of compromise." Sometimes it's so much easier for another to see possibility of hope and promise than the afflicted one.
Biffen forms an idealistic attachment to Amy, based on his extreme inexperience of women. There is a sexual element to his longing. "He became the slave of his inflamed imagination."
Gissing's description of Amy's behavior towards him when he visits: "her ten thousand pounds inspired her with the confidence necessary to a perfect demeanor." No doubt Amy does have some real feelings of gratitude and warmth towards Reardon's dear friend, but there is something contrived - practiced, or practicing - in Amy's manner.
Followed shortly by a passage in which Gissing makes it even plainer that it's not Amy he's in love with, she is only "the means" to a feeling of hopeless desire.
Gissing captures Biffen's extreme mental attitude. "By what fatality was he alone of men withheld from the winning of a woman's love?" It is not out of the realm of possibility that Biffen could find love, or at least female companionship. Heck, look at Whelpdale! But he thinks it is.
Biffen has no outlet for his feelings, and thinking about death gives him a relief from them, or rather changes them from one kind of feeling to another.
It is interesting that he does not stay in his room but leaves for the outdoors.
Also that there is no mention of him taking the poison he has carefully prepared. It must happen between "scarcely a breath of air moved among the reddening leaves" and "he passed into a little copse." Nothing happens to give him pause. His plan goes only too smoothly.
Well, are we really so surprised that Gissing would despatch his favorite? I don't think we can be. He took pains to show us the course of Biffen's mental attitude, and though we see that there is something wrong with the reasoning aspect of it, the insistence that the world more likely holds only more misery for its Biffens is a bitter pill that Gissing makes us swallow, too. The "new-risen moon, a perfect globe" is contrasted at the end with Amy as a "star ... beautiful, but infinitely remote."
"A fatal day" is repeated twice in this chapter in connection with Amy, and once in the form of “fatality” inthe previous chapter as he watches Amy weeping. Amy is an ideal, like the Acropolis at sunset, like writing books for art's sake.
But Biffen's obsession with her reads so intensely inward, as if he was already headed down the path of completing a suicide and needed a focal point, one he found in her, or his idealization of her. She wears what he calls her "graceful black dress,” as if her mourning clothes were summoning him.
The chapter does veer into sentimentality, but we are so much in Biffen's head, it could only be sentimental. Biffen didn't care for the novel's lack of commercial success. The "work was done.” He’d achieved what he wanted with it. He thinks only of both Reardons. Amy, the ideal woman and then the quote from the Tempest comes to him as Edwin's voice, as if by choosing to live out his "mission of literary realism," Biffen erased himself. And then he does just that.
I think much of Biffen's depression stems from finishing a large and beloved project that gave his days structure and meaning. Regardless of what happens commercially with Mr. Bailey, the emptiness left after its completion has to be intense. It's common when completing a project and before embarking on another. Biffen has the additional challenges of near starvation, losing his home and everything in it, and the trauma of Reardon's death. Then there is Amy. She is his ideal. I've thought a lot about his loneliness and why he could not have a working class wife. It may be he is too educated to marry someone unschooled. But he's a teacher and patient. Granted he would have two people to support, but if his wife could live simply, they could likely make it work. However, I think he thinks only of women who share his breeding and background, and they are beyond his means. I wish he could have held on through this dark period, but that would have required the attention of someone. Too much solitude, finally, is pernicious, even, in some cases, deadly.
“Sure at length that he was remote from all observation, he pressed into a little copse, and there reclined on the grass, leaning against the stem of a tree.”
To me, this book is so much about depression, the basic needs of life and the power of the mind. So many of the characters need help and have nowhere to turn to find it or are expected by society and circumstances to take care of it themselves. If only there were a Biffen for Biffen in his time of need like there was for Reardon.
In this scene, nature has returned. The heath, the sky, the moon, the trees. The writing broadens and becomes more poetic. It’s the closest Gissing gets to alluding to a spiritual power.
“He had now only one pupil, and was not exerting himself to find others; his old energy had forsaken him.” First reading I thought Biffen had a money problem, but when I reread, I realized this was a crisis of spirit. The realist facing the reality of his life as a struggling writer.
In Buddhism desire is the source of suffering. Biffen intuited that following his unrequited love at 23, and protected himself afterward by eliminating the desire - "... his loneliness only became intolerable when a beautiful woman had smiled upon him, and forced him to dream perpetually of that supreme joy of life which to him was forbidden."
The "fatal days" were those that gave him access to Amy - "... after that hour of intimate speech with Amy, he never again knew rest of mind or heart." The smallest things about her became unbearable - "... her voice was so cruel in its conventional warmth."
His intellectual pursuits became inadequate raison d'être. Finally, "night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting."
I'll add here that current terminology favors "completing a suicide" vs "committing suicide," to remove some of the stigma. Biffen deserves that.
This Tempest quote shows how much Gissing is in love with literature (not all writers are). I think that whenever I see and hear echoes (as well as outright allusions) in this work.
As for the requirement to tell a story -- hmmm. This is something that comes up in my in-person book club a fair bit. I favor digressions / character portraits / original voice in the books I like. Most of the group loves a good yarn. This book has both.
Noooooooo. 😩
A poignant adieu to Biffen (an ethereal presence dissipates –into a netherworld; realism is untenable in the end –so sad!):
“Only he who belonged to no class, who was rejected alike by his fellows in privation and by his equals in intellect, must die without having known the touch of a loving woman’s hand.”
“[W]hen he lay down in darkness a hopeful summons whispered to him. Night, which had been the worst season of his pain, had now grown friendly; it came as an anticipation of the sleep that is everlasting.” / “Turning from the contemplation of life’s one rapture, he looked with the same intensity of desire to a state that had neither fear nor hope.”
“His mood was one of ineffable peace.”
I am moved by Yiyun's wondering whether "the reason that literature still lives on is not because of people’s strong convictions, but despite them…" Indeed, for me the ineffable draw/power of literature is the way in which it opens new worlds/experiences/ideas that invite/compel you to wander around in the muck of your convictions, and emerge with less clarity, new questions, and increased empathy toward others. Case in point: these past 35 days; it has been a gift to share thoughts, questions, musings with all of you - those who bring life to literature, and in turn enrich quotidian moments of "real" life.
I am remembering Biffen's splendid line to Edwin when the latter was in the pit of despair: "The art of living is the art of compromise." Sometimes it's so much easier for another to see possibility of hope and promise than the afflicted one.
Biffen forms an idealistic attachment to Amy, based on his extreme inexperience of women. There is a sexual element to his longing. "He became the slave of his inflamed imagination."
Gissing's description of Amy's behavior towards him when he visits: "her ten thousand pounds inspired her with the confidence necessary to a perfect demeanor." No doubt Amy does have some real feelings of gratitude and warmth towards Reardon's dear friend, but there is something contrived - practiced, or practicing - in Amy's manner.
Followed shortly by a passage in which Gissing makes it even plainer that it's not Amy he's in love with, she is only "the means" to a feeling of hopeless desire.
Gissing captures Biffen's extreme mental attitude. "By what fatality was he alone of men withheld from the winning of a woman's love?" It is not out of the realm of possibility that Biffen could find love, or at least female companionship. Heck, look at Whelpdale! But he thinks it is.
Biffen has no outlet for his feelings, and thinking about death gives him a relief from them, or rather changes them from one kind of feeling to another.
It is interesting that he does not stay in his room but leaves for the outdoors.
Also that there is no mention of him taking the poison he has carefully prepared. It must happen between "scarcely a breath of air moved among the reddening leaves" and "he passed into a little copse." Nothing happens to give him pause. His plan goes only too smoothly.
Well, are we really so surprised that Gissing would despatch his favorite? I don't think we can be. He took pains to show us the course of Biffen's mental attitude, and though we see that there is something wrong with the reasoning aspect of it, the insistence that the world more likely holds only more misery for its Biffens is a bitter pill that Gissing makes us swallow, too. The "new-risen moon, a perfect globe" is contrasted at the end with Amy as a "star ... beautiful, but infinitely remote."
"A fatal day" is repeated twice in this chapter in connection with Amy, and once in the form of “fatality” inthe previous chapter as he watches Amy weeping. Amy is an ideal, like the Acropolis at sunset, like writing books for art's sake.
But Biffen's obsession with her reads so intensely inward, as if he was already headed down the path of completing a suicide and needed a focal point, one he found in her, or his idealization of her. She wears what he calls her "graceful black dress,” as if her mourning clothes were summoning him.
The chapter does veer into sentimentality, but we are so much in Biffen's head, it could only be sentimental. Biffen didn't care for the novel's lack of commercial success. The "work was done.” He’d achieved what he wanted with it. He thinks only of both Reardons. Amy, the ideal woman and then the quote from the Tempest comes to him as Edwin's voice, as if by choosing to live out his "mission of literary realism," Biffen erased himself. And then he does just that.
I think much of Biffen's depression stems from finishing a large and beloved project that gave his days structure and meaning. Regardless of what happens commercially with Mr. Bailey, the emptiness left after its completion has to be intense. It's common when completing a project and before embarking on another. Biffen has the additional challenges of near starvation, losing his home and everything in it, and the trauma of Reardon's death. Then there is Amy. She is his ideal. I've thought a lot about his loneliness and why he could not have a working class wife. It may be he is too educated to marry someone unschooled. But he's a teacher and patient. Granted he would have two people to support, but if his wife could live simply, they could likely make it work. However, I think he thinks only of women who share his breeding and background, and they are beyond his means. I wish he could have held on through this dark period, but that would have required the attention of someone. Too much solitude, finally, is pernicious, even, in some cases, deadly.