Tag: jeanette winterson

The Trefoil Knot: An Important Analogy in Written on the Body

So far, I’ve been really astounded by the analogies that the narrator in Written on the Body makes about love. Each comparison seems to be a way to justify their current situation through a different lens. In this post I will be focusing on the paragraph on page 87 where the narrator talks about knots, and the larger implications that this analogy has on how the narrator views their relationship with Louise.

When the narrator claims that “the interesting thing about a knot is its formal complexity. Even the simplest pedigree knot, the trefoil, with its three roughly symmetrical lobes, has mathematical as well as artistic beauty” (87), I don’t think they are purely talking about the knot itself. Here, the narrator states three important things: 1) knots are complex, 2) a specific knot (the trefoil, pictured at the top of the post) has three lobes, and 3) the trefoil is beautiful. With the knowledge that they later bring this talk of knots back around to their relationship with Louise (see page 88), I don’t think it’s as much of a stretch to consider that this paragraph about knots relates back to the narrator’s love life. At this moment in time, the narrator considers their relationship with Louise to be much like the trefoil knot – complex and 3-sided (because Elgin is still in the picture at this point), but ultimately beautiful.

It is interesting that they continue by saying, “the challenge of the knot lies in the rules of its surprises. Knots can change but they must be well-behaved. An informal knot is a messy knot” (87 – 88). For the challenge of the knot, the narrator seems to think that the same occurs for relationships; it’s the surprises and how they are dealt with that “make or break” them (i.e. Louise telling Elgin that she’s been having an affair with the narrator and how they deal with that situation). Then there’s the word choice of “well-behaved” that really sticks out to me, I think this combined with the informal = messy bit is meant to say that much as a knot must be sturdy and held together tightly, so must a relationship if the people wish to stay together.

Your Body Wants to be Naked but You’re Wearing an Overcoat

The closest thing that Jeanette Winterson’s narrator of Written on the Body achieves to marriage prior to their relationship with Louise is their relationship with Jaqueline. But, that relationship is destroyed by the narrator’s lust and love for Louise, quickly, sharply, hurtfully. It was a settled relationship, content and calm, and not enough for our narrator:

“Jaqueline was an overcoat. She muffled my senses. With her I forgot about feeling and wallowed in contentment. Contentment is a feeling you say? Are you sure it’s not an absence of feeling?… Contentment is a positive side of resignation. It has its appeal but it’s no good wearing an overcoat and furry slippers and heavy gloves when what the body really wants is to be naked” (76).

They “wallowed in contentment” — interesting choice of words to put together (76). They contradict each other in meaning, or rather in the way people usually tend to use and think of these words. Wallowing has connotations of almost trudging or floating around in a state of sadness, boredom, self pity, maybe a combination of all. Contentment, on the other hand, is most often positive: it’s a happy feeling, a feeling that’s arguably something everybody searches for and wants: satisfaction in the state of homeostasis, of balance. But our narrator is not happy in contentment. In fact, for them contentment is an “absence of feeling” and part of the same feeling as “resignation” (76). Balance, quiet, consistency, even, is a resignation for them. Resignation from what? From desire, life, or real love? Just pure lust?

Why would you want to be wearing an overcoat when “what the body really wants is to be naked” (76)? But perhaps contentment becomes a feeling when it is with someone whose body wants to be naked with your naked body, and not smothered in overcoats. When it comes to Louise, all the narrator wants is a life with her; with her, contentment perhaps would be real contentment and not a resignation because Louise is not Jaqueline. But then again, how would we as readers know that the narrator doesn’t have this euphoric state in every relationship prior — they are unreliable, after all. By condemning contentment as a lack of feeling, the narrator contradicts themselves as they desperately seek out Louise as a partner, and when or if they receive that partnership and love, then wouldn’t that be contentment?

The Christmas Conundrum: Rewriting the Family in “Written on the Body”

     For a brief period in the text, Louise and the narrator of Written on the Body share a quaint and domestic life together. With Elgin out of the picture, the two lovers can fully enjoy each other’s company and embrace the positive aspects of stable, affectionate monogamy. Notably, this domestic reprieve occurs during the Christmas season. Louise and the narrator, along with the rest of the world, get caught up in the holiday spirit. They cannot help but decorate their “flat with garlands of holly and ivy woven from the woods” (Winterson 99). Though they have “very little money,” they still find peace and cheer in “the season of goodwill” (99-100). Sadly for the two lovers, though, this fragile joy comes crashing down around them. By setting all scenes of domesticity at Christmastime, Winterson emphasizes the ubiquity of hegemonic ideals of domestic happiness.

     As Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick points out in Tendencies, Christmas marks a “time when all the institutions are speaking with one voice” (5). As all institutions repeatedly promote the monolith of Christmas, an increasing connection emerges between Christmastime and “the image of ‘the’ family” (6). Of course, Louise and the narrator do not conform to any traditional concept of what “the family” looks or acts like; their relationship begins with an affair, they do not share children, and they may both be women. Still, they enjoy the holiday season just like any other family. “We sang and played and walked for miles looking at buildings and watching people,” says the narrator (99). The couple’s singing calls to mind Christmas carols, while their playing evokes a childlike joy. Perhaps they also admire Christmas lights while taking their milelong walks. They even learn the quintessential lesson of Christmas: the importance of family. “A treasure had fallen into our hands,” says the narrator, “and the treasure was each other” (99). The statement is overly schlocky, romantic, and sentimental, especially for such a cynical narrator. In other words, the statement embodies all the cardinal aspects of Christmastime.

     Despite their poverty and unconventionality, Louise and the narrator remain “insultingly happy” (99). Their happiness does not just insult Elgin or Jacqueline. Rather, it insults the established order. The couple demonstrates that one does not have to adhere to conventional expectations in order to find fulfillment. However, their rebellion comes at a cost. Elgin arrives on “Christmas Eve” to inform the narrator that Louise has leukemia (100). He undercuts the couple’s happiness the night before the glorious day, the symbolic culmination of their joy. In a season characterized by brilliant lights and twinkling stars, Elgin casts “a shadow” over their contrived domesticity (100). His cruelty reveals that even the most “jovial” of seasons can have a “menacing” underbelly if you do not conform to societal expectations (100). The two lovers will never fit in, no matter how many garlands they string. Winterson illustrates that individual acts of resistance against hegemony only ever end in tragedy or martyrdom. To effect real change, the entire system must be discarded like the carcass of a Christmas turkey.

Good Dog/Feral Dog (Written on the Body)

“I phoned a friend whose advice was to play the sailor and run a wife in every port. If I told Jacqueline I’d ruin everything and for what? If I told Jacqueline I’d hurt her beyond healing and did I have that right? Probably I had nothing more than dog-fever for two weeks and I could get it out of my system and come home to my kennel. 

Good sense. Common sense. Good dog.”  

Written on the Body, pg. 40 

On the surface, this passage is a segment of the narrator’s deliberation. They consider the cons of telling Jacqueline the truth about their affair. On a deeper level, this passage reveals how the narrator views themself; it also carries notes of societal normativity.  

The syntax of this passage holds contrast: it begins with long, unbroken sentences, questioning in tone. This is the narrator’s pure stream of consciousness. It then transitions into clipped part-sentences which shut down the narrator’s earlier ruminations. After all, there is no need to worry about the ethical implications of being honest with Jacqueline if they ‘get it out of their system’ and move on (40).  

The narrator says that they have “dog-fever” and need to return home to a “kennel,” which conjures imagery of a crate or cage that might be too small for the dog (40). Something constraining. This is not the last time the narrator refers to themself in dog-like terms. On page 56, the narrator explicitly thinks, “I want to snarl like the dog I am,” and on page 91 they are “dog-dumb.” Interesting, then, that the narrator draws comparisons between themself and a cat later in the book, stating that they take it in “the way Louise had taken me” and then referring to themself and the cat in tandem (109). Whether cat or dog, the narrator thinks of themself in terms of a household pet. Feral and dangerous, protective, mistreated, loyal—all at once.  

This metaphor is a building block of a broader theme: rejecting normativity and hegemony. The narrator lives in a society which values faithful, heterosexual marriage, and the narrator adopts this obsession, questioning how one can be happy in such a system. The movement from “good sense” to “common sense” to “good dog” shows that the three are interconnected. Common sense, which is made up of common norms and beliefs, equates to good beliefs. Morality is tangibly attached to these practices. If the narrator adopts these beliefs and stops their affair, they will be a good dog, trained by society to be a docile household pet.  

Thus, the narrator’s struggle with norms and their internal debate is influenced by how they perceive themself. The choices are 1) ‘playing the sailor,’ being honest with Jacqueline, and ‘ruining everything,’ versus 2) moving through the affair and then conforming. Readers know that the narrator is honest and chooses not to play it safe. This is a decision followed by violence from both the narrator and Jacqueline, which is quite telling. Although the narrator is a contradictory character, they repeatedly grapple with their own dark side (akin to an angry dog) and whether they are worth saving (akin to a stray cat).  

the Piranesi nightmare

“Reason. I was caught in a Piranesi nightmare. The logical paths the proper steps led nowhere. My mind took me up tortuous staircases that opened into doors that opened into nothing.” (p.92)

The following text passage stroke me as very interesting when I read it, especially the mention of the “Piranesi nightmare”. There is a novel called Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, published in 2020, that I read last summer. It is set in a parallel world that is one endless house with an infinite number of staircases, halls and big rooms full of statues. The novel deals with various topics, among them being lost and finding oneself. After finishing the novel I did some research on Piranesi and found out that the novel was referring to the Italian Artist G. B. Piranesi, who, among other things, has produced a series with 16 prints called “Imaginary Prisons” in the 18th Century. It is also interesting, that WOTB is a lot older than Clarke’s novel Piranesi, which raises the question how Piranesi might shape newer interpretations of the mention of “Piranesi nightmare” in WOTB.

I see a reoccurring pattern in my chosen quote from WOTB, parts that can be grouped together, namely “Piranesi nightmare”, “steps leading nowhere” and “tortuous staircases opening into doors into nothing’”. All these parts have parallels to the novel Piranesi, where Piranesi, the main protagonist lives in this endless house with infinite rooms and staircases, leading to more rooms, but ultimately to “nothing”. They also resemble a labyrinth, a term that can also be associated with the artist Piranesi. The narrator feels lost in his own mind. This can also be connected to the very first word of the paragraph, “Reason”. It is interesting that the first sentence of the paragraph is just one word. Reason is a powerful word and can both mean an individual reason to do something as well as a greater, more general meaning and question of reason, almost philosophical as in “why do we do things in the way that we do them and why do we decide what we decide”.

What I am really trying to say here is that I think these lines are showing us how overthinking and analyzing can make us feel lost because we try to find a logical explanation for everything, when in reality, not every question has an answer. Reason gives us seemingly comfort, but actually it’s a nightmare, desperately trying to find an explanation for everything, thinking in complicated ways to make sense into things that aren’t supposed to make sense, just to frustratingly end up in “nothing” at the end. If we free ourselves from the urge to bring sense into everything, we free ourselves from this nightmare of a labyrinth, and thereby bring sense into it. The sense is that not everything can be explained with sense. Maybe the nameless narrator of WOTB also feel imprisoned by reason and his own mind.

This pattern of urge toward reason or explanation can also be seen in other parts of the novel, for example is the narrator trying to fight Louise’s cancer with reason, learning as much as they can about it. In the end though, cancer still does not completely make sense, since there often is no logical explanation as to when and why it develops in the body.

Jacqueline and ‘Normal’

“I wanted the clichés, the armchair. I wanted the broad road and twenty-twenty vision. What’s wrong with that? It’s called growing up. Maybe most people gloss their comforts with a patina of romance but it soon wears off. They’re in it for the long haul; the expanding waistline and the little semi in the suburbs. What’s wrong with that? Late-night TV and snoring side by side into the millennium. Till death us do part. Anniversary darling? What’s wrong with that?” (Winterson, 26)

This passage comes at a point in Winterson’s text where the narrator has just met Jacqueline and is trying to decide whether a relationship with her is what she wants and/or needs. Jacqueline is different from anyone the narrator has previously been with: “She worked nine to five Monday to Friday, drove a Mini and got her reading from book clubs. She exhibited no fetishes, foibles, freak-outs or fuck-ups. Above all she was single and she had always been single. No children and no husband” (26). Jacqueline is strikingly normal and mundane, and as the narrator considers their past relationships, they find themself wanting to test the waters of normalcy. They are thinking in circles, considering what they want, what they need, what they should want, and how being with Jacqueline will be different. Deep down, however, they know a relationship with her will never be fulfilling. The repeated question “what’s wrong with that?” clues the reader in to the narrator’s anxieties around long-term commitment and their fear of an unsatisfying relationship, and shows that they are questioning whether they can really be happy with Jacqueline. The narrator seems to be trying to convince themselves that “growing up” and settling into a comfortable, clichéd relationship isn’t actually that bad; however, the way they imagine that relationship reveals a different story, as they describe a loss of romance, growing old with their partner, and having nothing more exciting than late-night TV and anniversaries to look forward to. The relationship becomes stagnant, unchanging, and boring. “What’s wrong with that?” the narrator asks themself. Nothing, except that a stagnant, boring relationship is at odds with what they really want. 

When considering this passage alongside ideas of ‘normal’ and ‘queerness’ as imagined by Warner and Rubin, it becomes apparent that the narrator is trying to reconcile their queerness with the desire to conform to given norms. Though the narrator’s gender and sexuality are never revealed, they fit into several categories in the “outer limits” or “bad/abnormal/unnatural” section of Rubin’s sexual hierarchy. They are unmarried, promiscuous, and their sex life is focused on pleasure rather than procreation; regardless of their gender, they have had relationships with both men and women, and thus can also fit into the category of homosexuality. Jaqueline, on the other hand, seems to fall into more of the “good/normal/natural” categories, though not entirely. Her sexuality is rather complex, as she is introduced as “the mistress of one of [the narrator’s friends] the confidante of both… She traded sex and sympathy for £50 to tide her over the weekend and a square meal on Sunday” (25). She therefore fits the “commercial” and (potentially) “sadomasochistic” categories in Rubin’s sexual hierarchy. Yet the narrator believes a relationship with her will be calm, clichéd, and normal, to the point of boredom. There is no passion between the two of them, and once together, their sex life becomes stagnant (28); it doesn’t seem too much to assume, considering the boredom and lack of romance, that it is private and vanilla as well. The narrator wants to try this calm, mundane kind of relationship with Jacqueline, seeing it and her as a welcome respite from the affairs they have had in the past. The problem is, the narrator is lying to themself on some level. They insist that they want “the clichés, the armchair,” when in reality, they will eventually become bored and frustrated with Jacqueline and her mundanity and leave her, choosing Louise and queerness over Jacqueline and normalcy.

The inside of your body is innocent

“Will you let me crawl inside you, stand guard over you, trap them as they come at you? Why can’t I dam their blind tide that filthies your blood? Why are there no lock gates on the portal vein? The inside of your body is innocent, nothing has taught it fear. Your artery canals trust their cargo, they don’t check the shipment in the blood.” (115)

The narrator is asking themselves multiple rhetoric questions about the human body, and how the sickness that is affecting Louise’s body manages to take hold. The questions are filled with naïve and hopeful imagery, of “gates” that could be closed to keep cancer out of the body. The narrator is using the questions to cope with the facts they have just learned about the sickness that will cause their lover to die.

The passage is lined with a theme of ships and the sea. The narrator uses words like “tide”, “canals”, “cargo” and “shipment” to describe the ways in which the sickness is transported through the body. They also describe the trust the body has in the “shipment” that is being transported. The body does not expect a deathly attack of cancer cells and is consequently not prepared to defend it.

Parallel to that, one could compare the narrator to Louise’s body. They have never lost a lover to a deadly sickness, or death at all for that matter. They are innocent, no one has taught them this specific kind of fear. The narrator didn’t check the “cargo”, the “shipment”, that Louise is carrying with her because they never had to before. Maybe they would have wished for a “lock gate” themselves, to protect their heart from hurt and pain. However, it is already too late. They have fallen in love with Louise and Louise is going to die. There is no changing nature. They can try to prolong Louise’s life, fight cancer as long and hard as possible – only at a terribly painful prize.

sHE…

I had a boyfriend once, his name was Bruno…he found Jesus under a wardrobe… rescued by the fire brigade…Jesus had come out of the closet to save him. ‘Out of the closet and up into your heart,’ raved the Pastor (152)

The word “boyfriend” captured my attention immediately. I have been so caught up in finding the narrators gender and the gender he/she prefers, and this passage may have solidified my opinion.

For some reason I am seeing Jesus as the narrator himself/herself, slyly talking in first-person. He/she is seemingly stuck under a wardrobe and even hidden in the “closet.” Then, there is a “rescue.” A rescue from himself/herself. A rescue from his/her own sexuality. 

Sexuality is something that can either set you free or suck you in. This passage is the moment of freedom for the Narrator. I find it ever so intriguing that there is two terms that suggest suppression of the Narrator’s true self, and that is the use of the words “[rescue]” and “save.” The imagery used to capture the meaning, feeling and reality of ‘coming out of the closet’ is magnificent, while answering a very frustrating, reoccurring question: what is the gender of the narrator?

Though, the use of Jesus in this passage is so cliché, it ties the fact that ‘God knows everything you do and you do not’ into the plot of the novel. I proposed earlier that the Narrator is using Jesus as a double of himself/herself; he/she “had a boyfriend once” and he/she seemingly came “out of the closet.” I believe he/she is, in fact, a he.

Suppression is prevalent in this passage. Suppression of the gay community. In this instance, he needs to be saved from his sexuality and rescued from his own mind just to find himself?? Ridiculous. He found refuge once the pastor “raved” the truth, “raved” reality and “raved” sanity, that there is nothing more real than what is within your heart and nothing more genuine than love. Once it is found, all bets are off, the “wardrobe” is off and the “closet” is gone. I believe that his passage has made him, himself all the way to the core of his heart, where Jesus is ringing bells of true identity.

One Last Act For The Dead

What would you do? Pass the body into the hands of strangers? The body that has lain beside you in sickness and in health. The body your arms till long for dead or not. You were intimate with every muscle,  privy to the eyelids moving in sleep. This is the body where your name is written, passing into the hands of strangers.

This passage is unusual because the narrator refers to Louise as “the body” because ze is in a cemetery and believes Louise to be dead and cannot bear to refer to Louise as a dead body yet. The narrator also speaks to the reader directly asking, “What would you do? Pass the body into the hands of strangers?” referring to the embalming process before burial and how people used to bury their dead themselves instead of passing them off. The narrator believes the past was more romantic, as a family would take care of their dead as an act of love before burial but now families don’t want to see the dead. Nowadays people fear death, and the narrator is no different, with the slight exception that ze fears more about Louise’s death than zir own. This fear translates into a desire to see Louise again, but ze fears it will only be at Louise’s funeral.

The narrator has also tried to block Louise from zir mind while living outside of London to reduce the pain caused by her diagnosis and imminent death. This is why ze cannot bring zirself to say “Louise’s body” and instead adopts a tone as if ze were addressing the reader and the body the reader longs for, not Louise. The narrator cannot admit that ze longs for Louise and her body nor does ze want to pass Louise off to strangers to prepare her for her death, which is exactly what ze does when ze allows Elgin to attempt to cure her. The narrator is beginning to regret zir decision to leave Louise and realizes that passing a loved one’s body to strangers removes the acts of love one does for the dead. The narrator is trying to reconcile this idea with zir thought processes about leaving Louise because up to now, the narrator truly believed ze had helped Louise by leaving her. In fact, the opposite is true, and the narrator now deeply regrets sending zir lover off to strangers when ze could have stayed with Louise and tried to cure her zirself.

If this is love, then love is easy.. or is it not?

Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to each other is still the thing we long to hear? ‘I love you’ is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them. (9)

I don’t like to think of myself as an insincere person but if I say I love you and I don’t mean it then what else am I? Will I cherish you, adore you, make way for you, make myself better for you, look at you and always see you, tell you the truth? And if love is not those things then what things? (11)

In both of these passages the unidentified narrator of Jeanette Winterson’s Written on the Body asks one of the most vital questions of mankind (and the singer Haddaway): ‘What is love?’. He or she wonders why hearing somebody say ‘I love you’ is such an important thing for us and if it shouldn’t be more important how we convey our own personal notion of love.

Even though, as the narrator points out, the words are unoriginal and have been said many times before, we long to hear them and make a big deal out of them, almost worshiping them. They give us a feeling of security, security that our significant other can’t possible leave us, as he/she said those magical three words. Words that many might only say because they feel pressured into it. Pressured by society, their partner, friends, parents, etc. And haven’t they most likely said I love you to somebody else before? Haven’t they had relationships before that didn’t work out even though they assured themselves they loved each other over and over again?

The narrator realizes that we need to be sure to only say ‘I love you’ when we truly mean it and when we can support these words with our actions. Only then there is a slight chance that it is actually love. Because we can’t possibly ever know what love truly means, can we? Who knows if there isn’t always somebody out there who we would love ‘more’ if ever given the chance of meeting each other? And isn’t it the beauty of love that it feels different for each and every one of us and with every partner that we’re with? It evolves, grows and changes, with us. That is what makes everybody’s love special.

When wondering what love is, the narrator repeatedly uses the word ‘you’. He/she realizes that love is not about yourself but about the person you are with. There is no ‘I’ in love. Love should always be about the other person. It should never be about what you think the other person may want or need but about truly listening to them, hearing them, seeing them for who they are.

Looking back at his/her previous relationships the narrator makes a conscious decision not to say ‘I love you’ to his/her current partner Louise until he/she can be sure that it is really love. However, the question remains if the narrator will successfully follow his/her ideals until the end of story. In the end, love, with all its emotions, usually gets the better of us.