This story
tells of a man who has been involuntarily committed to a mental institution. In
the opening scene Dr Hayward visits him to discuss his case. The man tells the
doctor that he is willing to talk in exchange for a game of chess. As the game
is played the man tells of his belief that he is the only one of his kind on
this world. He is convinced that the world is a giant hoax that they have
perpetrated on him. He explains how his suspicions were aroused in childhood by
the way adults changed their behavior when he came around and spoke of
inanities, never anything of importance and in the viciousness of other
children whenever he had tried to communicate with them. As an adult the
incongruities became more obvious, senseless and clumsy explanations as to the
meaning and purpose of life. The doctor
asks the obvious in that, granted the world may in fact be a cruel hoax but why
can it not be everyone who is a victim instead of only this one man. The man is now uncertain but in reviewing his
circumstances renews his belief. He stops playing the chess game and picking up
his violin begins to play. As the music emanates he relaxes and his face takes
on a peaceful expression. That night he dreams of joyous harmony in all things
and wakes with a renewed understanding of his true identity and vows to inform
“galroon” of the new order. At that moment the attendant bringing his breakfast
disturbs him and his memory of the dream dissipates leaving him alone and lost
as just a solitary man again with no memory of what he had so fleetingly
captured in his dream. Later, his wife arrives unexpectedly reminding him of
the incident that had led to his incarceration. They had been about to leave
their house through the front door where it had been storming when he decides
to go back to his study. His wife had tried to stop him but he had insisted.
Upon arriving there he had seen a sunny day outside the window. During his
marriage he had been content with his life and for a time had forgotten his
suspicions. But at this new proof those suspicions returned with renewed force.
He had then barricaded himself in his room insisting that they were plotting
against him. Rebuffing his wife’s
attempts at reconciliation she leaves. From the hospital she meets with her
coconspirators where they discuss how best to continue their deception.
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This is a very simple story on the surface, a protagonist
apparently at the mercy of the world. The antagonists take the form of his
wife, the doctor treating him and all of those with whom he has associated
throughout his life. In the beginning we are led to believe that this a classic
form of paranoia, the delusional workings of an unstable mind. As the story
progresses and we hear his thoughts his beliefs do seem more reasonable, until
finally, at the end we learn that the world is in fact the madhouse he
perceives it to be.
This is my
fourth post. As I am just starting this blog and have to learn, well,
everything about blogging such as how to use the software, which service to
use, if I want to put advertising on the blog and how to do so, and so on and
so on and so on. And typing, mustn’t forget typing. Hunt and peck just will not
do.
As a result
of this I decided to start with Heinlein’s short fiction, thinking that it
would allow me to write short concise reviews followed by simple explanations
as to what the story meant to me. Sad to say, I have found this not to be the
case. I believe that I read in an Isaac Asimov authors note that novels are
easy to write, you just throw words at a page until a story emerges. Short
stories are difficult in that the author must have an immediate hook to draw
the reader in, make his point in very few words and have a satisfying ending. Heinlein
puts a lot into his stories and I feel that I am obligated to spend as much
time as needed in these reviews.
I
am alone
A short sentence if ever there was,
yet possibly the most profound statement of the human condition that has ever
been put to paper.
A fetus, how we all start out in
life, mother and child, one entity, possibly the only time in our lives when we
are not alone. The birth Comes, a separation, one mind and one body torn in
two. For the first time in our lives we are alone. Our quest for companionship
has begun and even though we have no language to express this most profound
need we gain the awareness of solitude.
If we are lucky the word mother
never becomes an intellectual concept. It remains a feeling of acceptance, of
belonging and of unchallenged love. I have been one of the lucky ones.
On the 23rd of January in 2001 my
mother lost a ten year battle with lymphoma. I don’t intend to discuss this event;
however I do wish to share a brief story which I hope will convey at least some
small measure of this relationship. About a month earlier I had been suffering
from an abscessed tooth, if you have never experienced this consider yourself
blessed. However take my word for it, the pain is significant and sleep is
impossible. I had been awake for two days and as I sat in the easy chair beside
my mother’s bed trying vainly to sleep I had verbalized my intense discomfort.
And this woman whose body had been ravaged by this horrible disease attempted
to comfort me.
I have family remaining to me, a
father and two sisters. I can’t say that
these people are unimportant to me but since my mother died I have been
alone.
Language is a tool to be used for communication? You will
note the question mark. All around the world everyone talks to everyone in an
attempt to communicate. I’ll be home by eight tonight, today’s lesson in on the
ancient Mayans, twenty dollars in regular, please pick up a pound of bacon on
your way home tonight, it was a great movie. Communication right? I will admit
that without language there would be no society, no culture, no literature, and
no civilization. I would not have written this nor would you be reading it.
However, language does not allow for the type of intimacy that lets us feel that
we are not alone. To borrow from a Gloria Estefan song (I try to say I love you
but the words get in the way). Kind of says it all does it not. In the story
our hero has been unable to get into contact with those who appear to be of the
same species as he and therefore concludes that they must be different. As I
write this I try to recall the protagonist’s name and find that I can’t. So I
reread the story and found that whereas each of the other characters is named,
he is not. I believe this was deliberate. This way, each reader becomes the protagonist; we each exist
as the center of our own universe and as such perceive the world through our
own private window.
Political philosophies, religions, societal beliefs, cultural
systems all have one common element in that they claim to have the answers as
to the meaning of existence. Bovine excrement. Yearning to understand our world I have
studied many such beliefs. My conclusions? We are all alone, discreet
individuals without any way to merge ourselves into one shared mind and I can’t
think of this as a good thing anyway. At one time in my past I worked as a
scuba diver and when fully accoutered looked very much like one of Star Treks
TNG’s cybernetic organisms “the Borg”. That is as close as I want to get to being part of a collective.
As with this man I do find moments of solace in music.
Certain compositions seem to reach beyond my conscious mind and “deliver me from
evil” to paraphrase the prayer. I, at times of great turmoil will seek comfort
from a favorite song. It is in this
place that I feel that I understand and am understood in a way beyond words or
reason. It is my hope that you the reader, whether or not I have reached you
with these words of mine have found your own place of peace.
Sincerely yours,
The rational
anarchist
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