Nice work making me read Steinbeck, Seth. I'd sworn off him in a bitter fury in my teens, but I sort of liked this one. :)
And it is a bit inexplicable. I think I almost get it, though. Or I get why I would be crying in her place, anyway. I see it as a combination of things. The tinker's betrayal, for one; she had made a connection, thought that she'd found someone who shared her creative passion--which her husband doesn't seem to do. And that proved to be a lie, and her chrysanthemum roots were dumped in the road where they could never grow (which would be enough to make me cry all on its own. But she's a little tougher.)
The dashing of the flowers is symbolic, I think, for her. She's a strong woman, capable of fixing and making grow, of everything she's doing in life and then some. The affirmation of even part of that makes her feel strong enough to dress up, to make herself beautiful. Then that's taken away from her. The tinker dismissed her ability to live an adventurous life, and he dismissed her beauty. And then, the final blow: her husband clumsily does the same thing in reverse--"Now you've changed again" and "I don't think you'd like it." It'd be enough to induce heartbreak in anyone, certainly in a woman.
Might just be blathering here, but those are my first thoughts.
Why does she cry, though? Why doesn't she cry? She has a decent steady life with her flowers, maybe, but no one sees her, nothing sticks. The chrysanthemums she sent out into the world were a little part of herself, but they didn't make it past the road. No one can be trusted with them.
She can't seduce the tinker and she won't go to the fights, and she isn't going to take off in a cart -- none of those things today, anyway. That would be a different kind of story. This is a story about a night she drank too much wine and her husband didn't understand why she couldn't buck up, when he was taking her out to a show and everything.
Or, you know, what Jenna said.
This is the first time I've ever been glad a story wasn't by Flannery O'Conner, by the way. I was feeling for Elisa Allen, but also SO RELIVED.
See, this is the reason I wanted other people to read this story! I totally missed the mark on her interior life, or maybe I just focused too much on other things. For instance, I noticed a lot how kind her husband seems to be, which made it strange that she appeared so depressed. And not just "kind" in the patient and forbearing sort of way but encouraging, loving, and slightly baffled like most husbands seem to be. In other words, I liked his character so much I couldn't figure out why she didn't.
And the tinker is obviously a jerk but I thought she saw that when he asked for seeds first and then changed to roots; I thought she knew he just wanted the pot, not the flowers. But then again, maybe she did but actually seeing the rejection is totally different? Either way, it makes so much more sense to see her as offering herself (the chrysanthemums) to the world and having only her pot (the world's perception of her) received. I would cry too. Or at least drink. -Seth
The Red Pony, Laura. And a little clip I read from something where a guy with mental problems accidentally kills a woman who is trying to be nice to him. MISERY.
Eh, you summed Elisa's situation up better than I did; that "no one sees her" was basically what I was driving at.
Seth, interesting thoughts on the husband. His clumsiness is certainly not all his fault, as he missed the tinker's visit and Elisa doesn't tell him anything. I did feel for him. He made a sincere effort to be affirming and failed so hopelessly. It happens to the lot of us.
The Pony does die. And it's gruesome. We had to read it in Middle School (MIDDLE SCHOOL! Teachers need to learn that just because there is a kid in the story, it doesn't mean the story is for kids.)
I LOVED this story, I felt so badly for both of them. I just wanted him to start crying too and ask her why she never talks to him.
I have to second the Flannery O'Conner foreboding-city. The moment that tinker started his double talk about not going back to the highway, I thought things were going to take a horrible turn. Which, maybe most people aren't so morbid / O'Connerly-injured, but perhaps Stienbeck wanted this, maybe is inviting the thought that while gruesome death is certainly something to fear, what gets most folks is the mini tragedies of living in whatever context / arrangement where no one really asks us about our chrysanthemums except to hustle a sale, and then not being able to tell anyone about it, because they don't care about your chrysanthemums either.
Nice work making me read Steinbeck, Seth. I'd sworn off him in a bitter fury in my teens, but I sort of liked this one. :)
ReplyDeleteAnd it is a bit inexplicable. I think I almost get it, though. Or I get why I would be crying in her place, anyway. I see it as a combination of things. The tinker's betrayal, for one; she had made a connection, thought that she'd found someone who shared her creative passion--which her husband doesn't seem to do. And that proved to be a lie, and her chrysanthemum roots were dumped in the road where they could never grow (which would be enough to make me cry all on its own. But she's a little tougher.)
The dashing of the flowers is symbolic, I think, for her. She's a strong woman, capable of fixing and making grow, of everything she's doing in life and then some. The affirmation of even part of that makes her feel strong enough to dress up, to make herself beautiful. Then that's taken away from her. The tinker dismissed her ability to live an adventurous life, and he dismissed her beauty. And then, the final blow: her husband clumsily does the same thing in reverse--"Now you've changed again" and "I don't think you'd like it." It'd be enough to induce heartbreak in anyone, certainly in a woman.
Might just be blathering here, but those are my first thoughts.
Jenna, was it The Pearl?
ReplyDeleteWhy does she cry, though? Why doesn't she cry? She has a decent steady life with her flowers, maybe, but no one sees her, nothing sticks. The chrysanthemums she sent out into the world were a little part of herself, but they didn't make it past the road. No one can be trusted with them.
She can't seduce the tinker and she won't go to the fights, and she isn't going to take off in a cart -- none of those things today, anyway. That would be a different kind of story. This is a story about a night she drank too much wine and her husband didn't understand why she couldn't buck up, when he was taking her out to a show and everything.
Or, you know, what Jenna said.
This is the first time I've ever been glad a story wasn't by Flannery O'Conner, by the way. I was feeling for Elisa Allen, but also SO RELIVED.
See, this is the reason I wanted other people to read this story! I totally missed the mark on her interior life, or maybe I just focused too much on other things. For instance, I noticed a lot how kind her husband seems to be, which made it strange that she appeared so depressed. And not just "kind" in the patient and forbearing sort of way but encouraging, loving, and slightly baffled like most husbands seem to be. In other words, I liked his character so much I couldn't figure out why she didn't.
ReplyDeleteAnd the tinker is obviously a jerk but I thought she saw that when he asked for seeds first and then changed to roots; I thought she knew he just wanted the pot, not the flowers. But then again, maybe she did but actually seeing the rejection is totally different? Either way, it makes so much more sense to see her as offering herself (the chrysanthemums) to the world and having only her pot (the world's perception of her) received. I would cry too. Or at least drink.
-Seth
The Red Pony, Laura. And a little clip I read from something where a guy with mental problems accidentally kills a woman who is trying to be nice to him. MISERY.
ReplyDeleteEh, you summed Elisa's situation up better than I did; that "no one sees her" was basically what I was driving at.
Seth, interesting thoughts on the husband. His clumsiness is certainly not all his fault, as he missed the tinker's visit and Elisa doesn't tell him anything. I did feel for him. He made a sincere effort to be affirming and failed so hopelessly. It happens to the lot of us.
I haven't read The Red Pony but it is a story with an animal in the title, so I am guessing that pony dies.
ReplyDeleteYeah, the husband is a basically good guy, probably. They're both basically good people. The problem is, it's not enough.
The Pony does die. And it's gruesome. We had to read it in Middle School (MIDDLE SCHOOL! Teachers need to learn that just because there is a kid in the story, it doesn't mean the story is for kids.)
ReplyDeleteI LOVED this story, I felt so badly for both of them. I just wanted him to start crying too and ask her why she never talks to him.
I have to second the Flannery O'Conner foreboding-city. The moment that tinker started his double talk about not going back to the highway, I thought things were going to take a horrible turn. Which, maybe most people aren't so morbid / O'Connerly-injured, but perhaps Stienbeck wanted this, maybe is inviting the thought that while gruesome death is certainly something to fear, what gets most folks is the mini tragedies of living in whatever context / arrangement where no one really asks us about our chrysanthemums except to hustle a sale, and then not being able to tell anyone about it, because they don't care about your chrysanthemums either.
ReplyDelete