As it is a recurring motif in both Autobiography of Red and Cereus Blooms at Night, I wanted to explore the significance of flight in relation to dehumanization and eventual liberation within the stories of Geryon and Mala Ramchandin. Both characters are a sort of social outcast, but the way in which they are “othered” by society has contrasting manifestations and results, representing the different ways in which those that live outside the norms of society internalize and embrace their queerness.
Mala is ostracized by the town of Paradise as a result of a combination of factors, including the childhood abuse she suffered from her father, her social class and race, and her perceived insanity. Along with this isolation, the townspeople enforce Mala’s separation from humanity by tormenting her and referring to her as “The Bird.” This dehumanization has two sides, since it is both impressed upon Mala as a social punishment, yet she also embraces it as a means of escape. Throughout the story, many allusions are made to birds in relation to Mala, such as when she is described as “[l]ike a crane pondering flight” (Mootoo 147). She even develops the skill of imitating any birdcall she hears. Despite all these avian comparisons, Mala remains physically human and incapable of flight.
In stark contrast to Mala’s predicament, Geryon has wings, and yet his own self-hatred keeps him from using them. In this way, Geryon’s dehumanization is entirely internal. Though he is described as a red-winged monster, for most of the story it is unclear if this is actually his true appearance. His self-disgust is revealed by the fact that he keeps his wings concealed and strapped down, as displayed in the section entitled “Pair:” “His wings were struggling. They tore against each other on his shoulders / like the little mindless red animals they were. / With a piece of wooden plank he’d found in the basement Geryon made a back brace / and lashed the wings tight” (Carson 53). The likening of his wings to “animals” contributes to Geryon’s self-dehumanization, and it also implies his attempt to separate this monstrosity from his own body. In this particular passage, Geryon’s wings are illustrated as their own entities, since they are described as “struggling” and “[tearing] against each other” as if they are beyond his control. Rather than embracing his nature, Geryon attempts to hide and restrain the parts of himself he views as monstrous.
This changes, at last, in the conclusion of the story, specifically after Geryon’s relationship with Ancash provides a new perspective on his nature. After Ancash tells Geryon of the mythology of the Yazcamac, Geryon begins to dissolve his own self-loathing. The final step in his liberation is achieved in the section entitled “Photographs: #1748,” in which he takes flight at last: “bolts of wind like slaps of wood and the bitter red drumming of wing muscle on air – / he flicks Record. / This is for Ancash, he calls to the earth diminishing below. This is a memory of our / beauty” (Carson 145). Most significant in this passage is Geryon’s mention of “beauty,” a term which he has never used to describe himself before. His flight is both a means of physical freedom, since he is literally leaving the earth as well as people like Herakles who have only contributed to his self-hatred, but it is also a symbol of mental liberation as he is finally embracing the parts of himself which he had previously rejected as monstrous.
Though Mala remains wingless throughout the novel, there is a surprisingly similar passage toward the end of her story in which she achieves a comparable freedom through her imagined “rescue” of her younger self, Pohpoh. She tells Pohpoh, “I, Mala Ramchandin, will set you, Pohpoh Ramchandin, free, free, free, like a bird!” (Mootoo 173), once again invoking the bird motif. This returns in the final moment of the section: “She practiced making perfect, broad circles, like a frigate bird splayed out across the sky in an elegant V. Down below, her island was soon lost among others, all as shapeless as specks of dust adrift on a vast turquoise sea” (Mootoo 186). Finally, the symbol of the bird finds use as Mala imagines her abused, childhood self at last flying to freedom. Though Mala’s physical form remains on the island, she achieves an emotional, psychological liberation from the traumas of her past.
Works Cited:
Carson, Anne. Autobiography of Red: A Novel in Verse. Vintage Books, 1998.
Mootoo, Shani. Cereus Blooms at Night. Grove Press, 1996.
I absolutely love this observation. It also reminds me of the themes of nature, and how human identity is analogous with flora and fauna. Regardless of societal perception, an individual is who they are simply because they are born that way. Viewing natural characteristics as abnormal conjures feelings of shame, which can be seen within Geryon. As for Mala, she is struggling with the trauma within her past. However, as you said, towards the conclusion of both works, they are both free like a bird. They are accepting their natural identities, finding freedom in themselves.
I really like how you made the connection between Autobiography of Red and Cereus Blooms at Night. One of the most frustrating parts of Mala’s story for me was how the people of Paradise sat by and did nothing for years. I liked how you said this was two sided, in that it was forced upon her but was also partially self inflicted. It makes me wonder how Mala’s liberation could have been different had the town cared about her well being and intervened earlier.
I love the connection you are making here between flight and freedom. I also wrote my post partly about Geryon’s wings, relating it to freedom and expression. However, I hadn’t really thought about writing about Mala in the same light, so I thought your observation was very interesting. She is very connected to both insects and birds, so while she can’t fly herself, there’s definitely a kindred feeling between them that serves that larger metaphor.