"Perhaps we should consider the problem of canes. You know, sometimes a cane is just a cane." (S. Ersinghaus, 7/13/05)
Damn. Here it is, four o’clock in the morning, I am sitting in the dark of the garage with coffee and smoke and thinking, Well, maybe sometimes, but very rarely is a cane just a cane.
I should have given the good professor a grateful hug and kiss at graduation and been done with him. He who raises the question after the dust has settled, But does the dust exist? But then, maybe I haven’t yet learned all I need to know from him and haven’t yet learned to ask these questions myself. And, since my husband brought home two canes yesterday from cleaning out his grandmother’s house, the coincidence is too much to ignore. So…
Yes, in reading literature a cane may be just a cane. But its myriad meanings are overwhelming. A cane is independence allowed after lessening of mobility. It is also in contrast, hated dependence and a sign of infirmity. It can be a symbol of importance to a gentleman walker and a threat to he who dares accost him. It may be a companion on a walk, with a well-worn handle that fits like the hand of a lost love. It may speak of borders and dangers and safe paths to the blind. It will tell others of its owner’s blindness. It explores under rocks, taps things that may repulse the fingers, can with a quick flick clear a path. It is something you can trust, can lean upon. It is something to wave in another’s face for emphatic insistence. It is confidence. It is assistance. And sometimes, I do suppose, it is merely a cane.
Yes, please do bring up "reading," professor.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
The cane may even hold a sword, ready to be brandished at the first sign of assualt on the street.
But seriously, to draw from a more concrete example, often reading, whouldn’t you agree, is a form of trial and error. For example, in Suttree, Suttree lives on a house boat (not quite a house, not quite a boat), whereas his buddy Harrogate lives in a forgotten pillbox ( a thing not meant for use as a home). Harrogate has pathetic and naive visions of wealth; whereas Suttree lives a pathetic vision of the noble pauper, self-sustaining but not, not quite Ghandi.
Would this be “reading too much into” the novel, as some people love to say?
No, not at all. Though I hadn’t posted thoughts on this aspect, I had wondered about Suttree and his choices; they’ve never been totally clear as to why he has turned his back on his family–no upheaval via event (or have I missed that? The little girl and the dead baby of the final hallucinations?).
And, though I personally might suggest that the river is the antagonist playing to Suttree’s protagonist, Harrogate is most definitely the primary secondary character.
There is this complexity in their characters that is a mirror image (reversed) of each other’s wants. Harrogate certainly looks to Suttree as a role model, but seeks beyond what Suttree is living as–that of what Suttree is, despite his lifestyle. And Harrogate has a good mind, comes up with plans and ideas even though they are not planned out to the end and usually are dismal failures. But the plans are large, and beyond his abilities; he dreams big: Nickles from a couple hundred parking meters, tunnels underneath the whole town, and was it something like 60 bats? And oh yes, just about every watermelon in the field. Suttree, seeks simple, wants little, gives away excess such as fish. With money he buys a new suit of clothes (why not a couple pairs of jeans?) and not groceries, but a glorious steak dinner for himself and a friend, then drinks up the rest to maintain the status quo.
Oh there’s more to be read into it, even more. And that is why this will be the first of many books that will not be returned to the shelves when the last page has been read. Thank you for bringing up yet another path of thought to this wonderful story.