Category: 2022 Blog Post

“Death’s head in the chair, the rose chair in the stagnant garden. What is the point of movement when movement indicates life and life indicates hope? I have neither life nor hope. Better then to fall in with the crumbling wainscot, to settle with the dust and be drawn up into someone’s nostrils. Daily we breathe the dead.” (Winterson 107-108)

This poetic passage from Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson contains several significant themes from the novel. When the narrator arrives in the deteriorating cottage they banished themselves to, they look at the armchair, which is a symbol of the cliché heteronormative life they despise. The armchair represents eternal monogamy, something that they have never allowed themselves to have or want until Louise. They look at an armchair and imagine sitting in it, fading away, which is a death-like fate for them, exemplifying the novel’s theme of questioning heteronormative life. Furthermore, this quote demonstrates the novel’s themes of life, death, and the in-between. The narrator gives themselves the title of Death itself, insinuating their sorrow is so overcoming that they are not living. This brings up the question that is present throughout the novel’s latter half: What does it mean to be alive? 

The first half of the novel focuses heavily on themes of sex and the external body as it details the narrator’s sexual pursuits and failed relationships. However, when the narrator discovers Louise has cancer, the structure of the novel shifts along with the theme as the narrator examines Louise’s body physiologically. The focus shifts from sex, a sign of life, to death and the deterioration of a body that was previously romanticized heavily by the narrator. The language in this passage correlates with this dichotomy of life and death, as the narrator paints the picture of a garden that was once filled with life, no longer blooming. They are hopeless and resign themselves to deteriorate with the cottage, also symbolic of their belief that the cliché life is destined to fail. The crumbling wainscot is a symbol of the inevitably crumbling life of the person who lives in the cliché house with an armchair, or at least according to the narrator. The narrator then suggests a reincarnation of sorts, claiming that death is always present in even life, reminiscent of their description of Louise’s skin “Odd to think that the piece of you I know best is already dead” (Winterson123). The narrator further blurs the lines between life and death, claiming they embody death though they are living. They stay stagnant because they don’t feel alive, and moving signifies life and thus hope, neither of which they believe to possess. 

What it means to be alive, therefore, is not the mechanical operations of the body that the narrator examines in later sections but something much more. Something that the narrator experienced for the first time with Louise and can’t live without, possibly love. The narrator’s self-pity has led them to resign to life in the cottage, the picture of heteronormativity, perhaps as a form of self-punishment. Ironically, the cliché is still not fulfilled because they are alone, without the monogamy that they now find they desire for the first time. It’s a cliché, but a mere ghost of one, much like a stagnant garden in which the narrator sits their dying head in a rose chair.

On page 131 of Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson, the narrator calls their ex-lover Louise a “fallen angel”. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, a fallen angel is “[one] who rebelled against God and was cast down from heaven”. In the Bible, Lucifer is the only fallen angel so by claiming Louise is one as well, then the narrator is saying that there is a different God who cast their ex-lover down, but who could that be?

The God that the narrator is referring to is Louise’s ex-husband Elgin. He is a doctor who is researching how to cure cancer and has given himself a god-complex. Louise was married to Elgin for 10 years until she started an adulterous relationship with the narrator, therefore breaking her relationship, as well as one of the 10 Commandments. There is also an abundance of “s” sounds on page 131 like in the words “shuttered”, “suspects”, and “shoulder”. These sounds create the image of a snake preparing to hunt its prey, that prey being Louise and the snake being the narrator, which parallels the story of Adam and Eve. In that story, The Devil transforms himself into a snake to hide in the Garden of Eden and eventually convinces Eve to eat the Forbidden Fruit, therefore causing the fall of man. The narrator feels as if they are the devil that has now convinced Louise to start a relationship with them and for her then being cast down from high society, her home, her marriage, and eventually, top of the line medical care.

Elgin’s job is the cause of his god-complex and he learns that Louise has cancer, he finds a way to use it as a bargaining chip. He believes that he has the right to decide when a person can die by dangling treatment and the possibility of a better and longer life in front of Louise and giving the narrator, not Louise, an ultimatum; give her back or let her die. The narrator chooses for Louise, one again placing all three of them in a Devil versus God scenario. Despite that scenario, Elgin and the narrator aren’t all that different. They both decide what Louise can and can’t do and therefore removes all agency from Louise’s life. While the angel had a choice in leaving Elgin, the narrator believes it was their vicious ways that seduced her and then ultimately decides for Louise that she should go back to her “God”. The narrator has now left Louise after she has fallen victim to their prey but with no place to go. She could go back to Elgin, but she would never go back to the life she lived before. Instead, she would be forever stuck between the two opposing ends of the spectrum that Elgin and the narrator have created as God and Devil.

“Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille… I didn’t know that Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book.” (89). 

 

At this point in the novel, I believe this section represents the narrator’s loss of self. The usage of literary themed words (write, reading, braille, palimpsest, letters, book, translate, etc.) combined with bodily terms (body, hands, etc.) suggest that words and identity are intertwined. They compare the multiple experiences and relationships they have encountered to a palimpsest, illustrating the frustration and confusion they have endured. A commonality seen within each of the narrator’s previous relationships was the brief period in which they lasted. The narrator’s dissatisfaction with their lovers only contributed to their inner turmoil regarding what they truly were searching for in their concept of love. 

Louise’s ability to connect with the narrator was the blossoming of an epiphany. They felt as if they were being accepted for who they are as an individual, rather than a short-lived phase. Louise did not have any intention of hiding the narrator from her husband, nor did she want to change the narrator in any way. She was adamant about wanting to leave Elgin to pursue her relationship with the narrator simply because she loved them. Additionally, in the narrator’s past relationships, they chose to compromise with their lovers to salvage their bond. These compromises consisted of communication by pigeon, shaving their entire body, lying about their relationship status, living an uneventful life, and countless other situations that they did not feel comfortable with. For the first time, Louise was not asking for anything from the narrator. She simply wanted to be with them. 

However, this epiphany ironically led to the narrator’s misunderstanding of a healthy relationship. Having been changing themselves for their partner over and over, repeatedly erasing and creating new identities on themselves, they ran into a sense of confusion about who they are as an individual when their lover did not wish for them to change. Louise was not attempting to write anything on the narrator’s body; she only wished to read their identity. However, due to their inexperience in self-discovery, the narrator felt as if it was almost mandatory that they must be rewritten. With the lack of any attempt to modify the narrator, the narrator does not know how to act within a relationship. They are not told who to be; therefore, they misunderstand Louise’s sincerity, and mistake it as a “translation.” By this, they believe that they must become one with Louise. Love is not only about the other person, wishing to physically exude a perfect replication of the partner. A relationship consists of two individuals, not one. An absence of identity weakens companionship, disrupting equality and erasing any sense of a secure attachment. Instead, selfishness and inferiority emerges.

“I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I didn’t know that Louise would have reading hands.” (Winterson 89)

This quote pulled from Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson is just one in a long list of declarations by our narrator in which Louise is treated less like a person and more like a rosetta stone through which they hope to understand themselves. While on the surface this quote may appear to be simply a compliment of Louise’s patience and compassion, I think there is more to it than that.

Just before the narrator gives us the quote above, on that very same page they refer to a “secret code,” that is “written on the body.” If we take that code as the thing being read by Louise, it is clear that the narrator’s shielding of their body from their significant other is very important. They don’t want to reveal themselves. They don’t want to open up and be vulnerable. However, as the narrator tells us, Louise does not need the narrator to open up to understand them. Their “reading hands,” translate them all the same.

The important thing to notice here, in regard to the body language the prose describes, is that the only one taking an active role in “reading” our narrator is Louise. The narrator has no interest in what Louise’s translation is, instead mindlessly taking it as gospel and putting her on a pedestal for being able to understand the “code” that is her body. The narrator is so busy shielding themselves from Louise both physically and emotionally that of course Louise will appear more proactive in comparison. I think this is exactly why the narrator holds Louise in such high regard. Our narrator can’t seem to fathom the idea that someone could try to emphasize and understand them simply because they’re a kind, compassionate person who cares about the protagonist unconditionally. No, they must have “reading hands,” or some other kind of psychic power.

I don’t think what Louise is doing is particularly special. It’s only because the narrator is so averse to examining their own body and their own feelings that they are building up Louise as this angelic deity of love. In the absence of their own introspection, Louise’s reading hands are all they have to understand themselves, and thus they take her to be much greater than she actually is. Unlike the picture our protagonist paints for us, I don’t think what Louise brings to their relationship is something as exceptional as “reading hands.” She just cares about our narrator, and the only way she can discover more about her is to try to read this secret code written on her lover’s body. Short of that, how else could Louise hope to try to understand our narrator? Especially when our narrator is so cowardly and self-absorbed that they struggle to even understand themselves to begin with.

“Louise, stars in your eyes, my own constellation. I was following you faithfully but I looked down. You took me out beyond the house, over the roofs, way past commonsense and good behavior. No compromise. I should have trusted you but I lost my nerve.” (187).

This section comes towards the end of the novel, where the narrator is grieving their relationship with Louise and reflecting on where they went wrong. Even as they repent and scold themself for making poor choices and treating Louise badly, however, the narrator continues to treat Louise as a child or a possession to be had rather than a woman whom they are fortunate to be loved by. Calling her “my own constellation” suggests that they see Louise as theirs—their love, their person to look after, their “baby”, and though they don’t say it outright, the narrator shows through action that Louise is also someone they make decisions for. They have her love, so therefore they have her. You could go as far as saying that they even feel entitled to her love, to happiness with her, despite the reverence they view her with. It’s a bit of a paradox. The narrator constantly waxes poetic (literally) about Louise and how lucky they are to be her lover, but they feel entitled to have all of her. This likely stems from their tendency to base their personality off of their lovers. The narrator sees their loves as an extension of themselves, and Louise is no exception—they obsess over her just as much (or even more) as any other past lover, and this is always their downfall.

Additionally, the use of “star” and “constellation” as a kind of symbol or metaphor for trust is clearly intentional. In the same way that navigators trust the North Star and constellations to lead them to their destination, the narrator trusted Louise to bring them happiness just by being with her. I think that they placed this blind trust in her that served almost as a burden, because they seemingly expected everything to work out perfectly with Louise just because they were in love, without necessarily taking steps to ensure the success of their relationship. This is a rather naive assumption to make, enrtrusting Lousie with their happiness as a couple and individuals. Part of the reason it doesn’t work out for the narrator, however, is not because Louise is untrustworthy—it’s because when it matters most, they listen to their own fears and insecurities rather than what Louise has to say. The old habit of running out on female partners continues when the narrator finds out Louise has leukemia, because rather than following the “constellation”, the narrator says, in their own words ,”I lost my nerve” (187). It’s important to note that while the narrator should’ve listened to what Louise had to say about her own diagnosis, much of the issues that arose would’ve been avoided entirely if the narrator didn’t rely solely on other people in the first place. They rely on other people for guidance, and then shy away from it when it matters—likely do to some insecurity the narrator has with being unable to trust themselves and their own impulses (possibly because of all the people they’ve hurt)—and this usually happens when it counts. They panic and listen to their insecurities or the influence of someone else, like Elgin. Either way, they screw themselves over. They need to learn to be their own trustworthy constellation to have any chance of happiness in the future.

“Adultery is as much about disillusionment as it is about sex. The charm didn’t work. You paid all that money, ate the cake and it didn’t work. It’s not your fault, is it?” (78).

 

This quote, from Jeanette Winterson’s Written on the Body, contains two of the central themes of the novel. Commitment, and responsibility. The meat of the quotation is spent discussing marriage, an institution built on commitment, and always tied to a breaking of that commitment in the narrator’s experience. As is clear from their description of “pay[ing] all the money, [eating] the cake” the narrator views marriage as only its traditional, shallow, commercial parts, with the use of “charm” implying a sort of magic ritual, an act towards the production or achievement of a fantastical goal.

Focusing more on the third sentence, the narrator lists these traditional, shallow planning choices as boxes to be checked off, putting the focus of marriage on its physical elements rather than emotional ones. The disillusionment comes when these physical aspects do not change the emotional ones. The last line of this quotation is the most important. Once resigned to disillusionment, the disappointment turns to blame. Twice in the quotation does the narrator reference the self directly, “you ate the cake, you spent that money” and “it’s not your fault, is it” However the self is absent when discussing “the charm” failing. Adultery is the inevitable result, the product of some failure beyond your control. To the narrator, responsibility is foreign, and this quote shows that. None of the failures have to be their fault if the magic of marriage independently failed. There is no internal problem to address, no personal flaw, because “the charm” just didn’t work.

The narrator has disconnected their awareness from their actions, living in a place of technical innocence, pondering the inner wound they feel and fill with partners they will never assume responsibility for. Keeping just far enough from these women that they don’t hold emotional weight, already committed to another, yet close enough that they will relieve the narrator’s loneliness on the most superficial level. And when the superficial no longer fills them the way it once did, they can comfort themselves saying, its not my fault.

However, Winterson doesn’t write this last sentence as a statement, but rather as a question. “Is it?”. While this question could be read as indignation, it could just as easily be read as a demonstration of the narrator’s inner conflict, and the start of their self-reflection. A genuine question, as well as an insecurity. They feel failed by commitment because they fail at commitment but cannot fathom themselves at fault. The problem must be institutional, their failure must be out of their control. During their discussion of fading feelings, they site a natural circadian clock of love, removing blame once again, however doubt is evident in their subconscious if nothing else. The question is sincere, and they are desperate for a reassuring answer despite all odds. They spend most of the novel discussing the emotional wreckage they leave behind, wondering why without stating the obvious common factor in all of it. It’s not their fault. Isn’t it?

 

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