Date: Fri, 8 Oct 1999 10:00:59
-0700
This was a very short
story, and I'm not quite sure what it's about. I noticed the unnecessary
violence when he gashed a young tree with his chisel, but I didn't think
he threw his chisel at the Scotsman deliberately - I think he threw it
in the vicinity, as afraid of the deed as of the man, daring himself to
throw it the way he would have jumped into a lake from a greater height
than he was comfortable with.
When he added a piece to the end of the story,
his mother said "Hugh was found on the old bridge. " Is this supposed
to sound like "You, " as in the boy himself could have been caught,
or is that just the way I speak?
- Susan
===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
Susan Wenger wrote:
I didn't think he threw his chisel at the Scotsman
Wasn't the man a
theoretical threat? The way the hero went straight to the stream and travelled
up it suggests that he knew his pursuer was a dog. I thought the story
was a fine portrait of the trouble stirred up by a boy in the country.
Strutting down the road, thoughtless destruction, fear of retribution,
sudden and violent arrival of retribution; flight. For me it calls up strong
visual memories of a fenced wood by a hilly gravel road. And running. And
hiding. Scott
"Not Liking to Pass the Road Again" is a brief (barely more than 2 pages), puzzling story. This is the first short story told in the first person, but the narrator is not otherwise named, though he seems to be a young boy. The story begins with a description of a road with a wood next to it that the narrator used to pass by. The wood "for a long time ... had been the place of the Scotch brothers. They were maniacs, carpenters by trade, Baptists; and one had done something horrible to his brother." (p.35) The narrator believed that only one still lived in the woods. When the narrator passed by, he used to throw things into it: small things at first, but one day he throws in "two old chisels without handles" (p.35); the first "gashe[s] a young tree ... tak[ing] the green bark clean from the white wood" (p.35).
The narrator had "purposely this bold day prepared, to throw them in with desperate malice" (pp. 35-36). The second chisel is thrown and "oh God the great bursting crashing in the wood and he came, brutal grunting with speed" (p.36). Who or what the "he" is isn't clear. The narrator runs off as quickly as he can uphill over the trail, then into the stream near a bridge, and he climbs up to near the culvert on the road, and he looks back at his pursuer, and sees "It was still down there [note the pursuer is now "it", rather than "he"], casting to and fro like a hound, but with inconceivable rapidity. Halfway up the meadow sometimes to hit back on the line, so eager, then a silent rush to the water's edge and a check as if it had run into a stone wall: then over and over again, the eager ceasless tracing back and fro." (p.36) The narrator gets to his house and changes his boots without being seen, then he imagines his mother coming in and warning him of a mad dog. "'Hugh was found on the old bridge,' she said (Hugh was one of the farm boys), 'at the foot of the old bridge, with his face bitten. They have taken him to hospital, but he will not speak yet.'" (p.37)
There are several interesting questions about this story. The most prominent is: what did he hit, and what was pursuing him? There are several possibilities (and I think PO'B is deliberately muddying the waters by introducing these possibilities). Susan Wenger and Scott Wilson, in their earlier posts, mentioned two of them. First, there's one (or both) of the Scotch brothers. This ties in with the commentary about them at the story's beginning, but the pursuer is described ("Vague (except in movement'), uncoloured, low on the ground" (p.36)) as what sounds like a non-human creature. The second possibility is that the creature really is a mad dog, and its advance is checked by the end of a leash, but there are difficulties with this explanation as well. Would it be described as "casting to and fro like a hound" if it really were a hound? In addition, it seems to have a very long leash if it can make it "halfway up the meadow" before reaching the end. There's also the possibility of a combination of the first two explanations: the Scotchman is hit, and his dog attacks. A third possibility is that the narrator has hit Hugh with the chisel, slashing his face, and the mad dog story is something he has made up to hide the knowledge of what he's done, but this has the same weaknesses as the Scotch brothers theory. A final possibility is that the creature is supernatural, perhaps the ghost of the dead Scotch brother, which would explain the tremendous speed, and perhaps the stopping at the water (aren't there supernatural creatures -- vampires, etc., -- that can't cross running water?), and the mad dog story is an attempt to put a natural explanation on things.
There's some interesting comparisons between this and the earlier stories. Going into the woods and a path have featured in all of them so far. We know less about the narrator than any of the other central characters so far. At least we knew that "the man" in "The Dawn Flighting" was a man; the narrator in "Not Liking" seems to be a boy, but the evidence is sparse. I assume that he is male because of his behavior in throwing things into the woods, and because the characters in the earlier stories were male, and because POB is himself male, but nowhere is this explicitly said. In fact, the "I" construction allows POB to avoid "he" or "she" altogether if he is trying to create a question on this point. Similarly, I assume the character is young, because he imagines his mother coming in, suggesting a child who lives with his parents, but if this part is imaginary, the narrator could actually be any age. Rather than being about a young boy, the story may be that of a young girl (parallels to Little Red Riding Hood?), or an older woman.
This story seems to have the most in common with "The Happy Despatch", particularly the offenses against something in the woods and the running away. Compare this from "Happy Despatch": "still the everlasting hill stretched above and beyond him ... On and on: not to look up: on, on, on" (p.26) to this from "Not Liking": "Running, running, running, and running up that that dreadful hill that pulled me back" (p.36)
Susan's idea of Hugh = You occurred to me as well, and suggests as whole different possibility of intrepreting the story as psychological metaphor, with Hugh as himself, the woods as his unconscious, and the creature as some dark secret or fear within.
A final interesting thing is the narrator's deliberate re-creation of the past at the story's end. This creates a sort of double memory -- a real past and an imagined one -- and, eventually, a real and an imagined identity, which if lived long enough, tend to get merged and confused. Characters with self-re-created identities are prominent in literature generally (e.g., The Great Gatsby), as well as in O'Brian's own later works, most completely with Richard Temple, but also with James Dillon, as well as Stephen Maturin, and, for that matter, all the intelligence agents we meet, to one degree or another.
John Finneran
From: Don Seltzer
I was somewhat annoyed by the structure of the story, which caused some
confusion (deliberate?), forcing me to stop in the middle and backup a few
paragraphs. When "he came, brutal grunting with speed", I of course
thought it was the "maniacal Scotch brother". But further along, "It was
still there, casting to and fro like a hound". Huh? Did I misread
something? Only at the end is it clear to me that he was chased by a dog.
And I also discover that the narrator is a boy, not a man as I had
incorrectly assumed at the beginning. So I had to go back and read the
whole story again from the new perspective.
Here's my interpretation. The narrator is a weak young boy who is bullied
by the local farm boys, particularly one named Hugh. With low esteem, he
responds by attacking someone he believes cannot strike back. He probably
doesn't know the man, or have any particular grievance towards him. But
the Scottish Baptist, subject of all of those dark rumors spread among
boys, is a legimate target for his frustrations by virtue of being
different from the local folk, and therefore inferior to even the weak boy.
His "attacks" are truly juvenile and petty, beginning as the flinging of
twigs and pebbles in the general direction of the man's wood. The
satisfaction he gets is all in his mind, as the man suffers no harm, and is
ignorant of the boy's actions. Gradually, the boy musters enough courage
to throw larger stones more boldly. There comes a day when the boy, with
premeditation, brings some old chisels to maliciously throw into the woods,
by far the boldest act he has attempted. Unexpectedly, a dog comes out to
chase him. Afterwards, I am not sure if he feels proud for having done
something dangerous and malicious, or ashamed for his fear when being
chased by the dog. Perhaps a combination of both. He invents the little
fiction about Hugh and the dog, deriving a satisfaction from the thought
that he escaped the beast, while his hated bully did not.
Don Seltzer
In a message dated 10/11/99
1:15:31 AM, jfinnera@CONCENTRIC.NET wrote:
The first question is Who took my copy of Rendezvous? Who took the book? I
know just where I left it, on the next-to-top shelf in my living room, and
it's not there now. Whoever took it, givvit back. Or else. Alligators ain't
innit. Blair witches ain't innit. The terror of life is innit, and that
terror is shown over and over again.
It's a couple of years since I read the story. So nobody dast blame me for
stupidities and for mistakes, for errors and omissions. For misquotations,
purposes mistook, or anything else.
I'd keep in mind that this is a literary short story by an intensely literary
young man. It isn't a code. It isn't an allegory. It has no more story behind
it than POB intends to give us. There is no answer (or there are many
possible answers) to "what did he hit, and what was pursuing him." The hunt
for explanations, I think, leads us away from what POB was doing with his
talents in those days.
I'd like to point out some of the echoes that I pick up from John's useful
posting--maybe, within the echoes we'll hear the poetry in the story.
First off, the road and the wood. Dante, of course. First lines of Divine
Comedy. Who can write about woods and a road without Dante? "Whose woods
these are I think I know..." Anybody bet POB hadn't read Robert Frost?
He flings in a castrated pair of chisels. Takes "green bark clean from the
white wood." Anybody care to bet POB hadn't read Robert Graves' "White
Goddess," that mixture of madness and great insight. A rowan tree? An ash?
Don't meddle with the Goddess, druid or whatever you are. Or that POB hadn't
read "The Golden Bough," where--to be a priest (a writer) you have to kill
the Priest of the Wood? Throws them with "desperate malice." Ahab?
He's chased by something. Something that appears to the words, "oh God." A
hound. Isn't the Hound of Heaven a well-known literary conceit? Here the
hound can't cross running water... the water often a symbol of one's life.
Cf. baptism. Cf, in the other direction, Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron,
Lethe...or, for that matter, the four rivers which flow from Eden.
Life, struggle, death escaped for now. POB uses the phrase "inconceivable
rapidity." to describe the hound's casting back and forth, hunting for the
narrator. That's a phrase that echoes: somebody (one of the kings of France?)
dying, told his friends that they could not imagine with what "inconceivable
rapidity" he moved toward death. Anybody care to bet POB cdn't give the full
quotation?
The narrator gets away. And then changes his boots. Changes. Changes the
earthy part of his clothing. And that's the end of the story.
And yet, I know of a young writer whose book was reviewed as full of echoes
of Dostoyevsky's Grand Inquisitor. He told me (I know him well and absolutely
believe him) that he had never read Karamozov at the time. Go figure.
Charlezzzz
Don Seltzer Here's my interpretation. The narrator is a weak young boy who
is bullied by the local farm boys, particularly one named Hugh.
With low esteem, he responds by attacking someone he believes cannot
strike back. He probably doesn't know the man, or have any particular
grievance towards him. But the Scottish Baptist, subject of all
of those dark rumors spread among boys, is a legimate target
for his frustrations by virtue of being different from the local
folk, and therefore inferior to even the weak boy. Gradually,
the boy musters enough courage to throw larger stones more boldly.
There comes a day when the boy, with premeditation, brings some
old chisels to maliciously throw into the woods, by far the boldest
act he has attempted. Unexpectedly, a dog comes out to chase
him.
This sounds just right to me. But I'm not sure if anything chased
him at all, Scotsman, dog, or imagination? He threw a chisel, he heard
something, he ran. Maybe nothing was there at all?
- Susan ===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
Charlezzz says:
He flings in a castrated pair of chisels. Takes "green bark clean
from the white wood. "
I must confess I haven't read the story,
however, this part of your exposition did pique my curiosity. What are
castrated chisels? I have mortise chisels, paring chisels, skew chisels,
gooseneck chisels, patternmakers chisels, cold chisels - even a lowly butt
chisel. But I've never heard of a castrated chisel. Posses us.
-Bob Key,
who can hardly wait to tell 'em on the OLTOOLS group...
In a message dated 10/11/99 3:57:33 PM, you wrote:
But I've never heard of a castrated chisel. Posses us.
Handles are gone. Busted tools. Charlezzzz
--- Don Seltzer
I re-read the story, and Don's interpretation makes sense.
Possibly the confusion/annoyance is deliberate - perhaps the point of the
story, the point of most of the stories in the book, is that stuff happens
that IS confusing. The narrator doesn't really know what happened, the
reader certainly doesn't know what happened, man goes through life without
understanding most of what happens all around him, we are insignificant
specks in the landscape. We can describe our environs in the most beautiful
and painstaking sensory description, but that's just the physical, concrete
side. We don't understand ourselves or each other and we don't know why
stuff happens to us that we may or may not deserve (or think we deserve).
O'Brian describes what is there to be seen from one point of view, leaving
it to us to decipher what happens there, based on our own experiences.
- Susan, with another message to follow ===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
--- Don Seltzer
Furthermore: The sentence structure is suspicious: "I had them
purposely this bold day prepared, . . . " ". . . and here under
my feet was the worst hill beginning. " O'Brian is too good at the
language game for this to be awkward. What is he drawing arrows to with
this structure? If the bad people are the Scotch brothers, who is the narrator,
speaking in this stilted manner? Is this a Scotch structure? i.e. Are we
all brothers, and do we fear those closest to ourselves? Help me out, somebody.
- Susan ===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
John Finneran
If we read the story aloud, I can imagine
"hill " being pronounced similar to "Hell. " That possibility
adds a new meaning to the story, too.
===== "Who wishes to be a meagre
sailorman if he can be a learned and enter the government service? Why,
in time you might be an official and never do anything for remainder of
earthly existence. You could grow long fingernails, and become obese and
dignified. " -
John Finneran wrote:
The second possibility is that the creature really is a mad dog,
and its advance is checked by the end of a leash, but there are difficulties
with this explanation as well.
If it was a dog, it doesn't necessarily need a leash. I thought it was
stopped at the creek because it lost the scent of the narrator's trail.
Scott
From:
Susan Wenger
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Fri, 8 Oct 1999 11:56:11
-0000
From: sdwilson
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 01:15:21-0400
From: John Finneran
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 11:22:38-0400
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 14:44:32
EDT
From: Charles Munoz
The narrator had "purposely this bold day prepared, to throw them in
with desperate malice" (pp. 35-36). The second chisel is thrown and "oh God
the great bursting crashing in the wood and he came, brutal grunting with
speed" (p.36). Who or what the "he" is isn't clear. (snip)
"it", rather than "he"], casting to and fro like a hound, but with
inconceivable rapidity. Halfway up the meadow sometimes to hit back on the
line, so eager, then a silent rush to the water's edge and a check as if it
had run into a stone wall: then over and over again, the eager ceasless
tracing back and fro." (p.36) The narrator gets to his house and changes
his boots without being seen
There are several interesting questions about this story. The most
prominent is: what did he hit, and what was pursuing him? >
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 12:35:47
-0700
From: Susan Wenger
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 15:56:01
-0400
From: Bob Key
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 17:08:02
EDT
From: Charles Munoz
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 16:14:23
-0700
From: Susan Wenger
I was somewhat
annoyed by the structure of the story, which caused some confusion
(deliberate?), forcing me to stop in the middle and backup a few
paragraphs.
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 16:18:38
-0700
From: Susan Wenger
forcing
me to stop in the middle and backup a few paragraphs.
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Tue, 12 Oct 1999 12:50:49
-0700
From: Susan Wenger
This story seems to have the
most in common with "The Happy Despatch ", particularly
the offenses against something in the woods and the running away.
Compare this from "Happy Despatch ": "still the everlasting
hill stretched above and beyond him ... On and on: not to look
up: on, on, on " (p.26) to this from "Not Liking ": "Running,
running, running, and running up that that dreadful hill that
pulled me back " (p.36)
Patrick O'Brian
Date: Wed, 13 Oct 99 08:39:42 -0000
From: sdwilson
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