Did you grow up in the suburbs? "The Swimmer" is the story that crystallizes John Cheever in people's minds as the paragon of suburban writers. Dive in and through and across; and while you're immersed in the story, take time to notice how he sets up a pattern, an expectation, and how he keeps his sentences, creating chaos, so carefully in order.To fully enjoy "The Swimmer," I suggest you read (or reread) "Goodbye, My Brother," on which students blogged here. The photo here expresses a Cheever who seems to be in an old family vacation spot. In Richard Russo's introduction to Cheever in 3x33 he points out that Neddy Merrill "might be the unnamed narrator of 'Goodbye, My Brother,' a decade or two later." Russo points out that illusion and falsehood are what propel the narrator forward in his journey of shallow pools.
“The Swimmer” elicits the “then what happened?” response from the reader by setting up this pattern of pool-hops. We get into the motion of hopping from pool to pool, scene to scene. For me, the story began to really pick up with the first mention of something being off, which I believe was at the Hallorans’ place. The story takes on more consequence as Ned is dragged into a darker reality from the suburban “I drank too much” veneer the story starts out with. I felt as though from pool to pool Ned was aging, significant time was pass. The storm was picking up and soon the downpour would begin in earnest (to quote Joe Sherlock). I started to wonder how literal the actions of this story are to be taken. I sort of imaged each pool to be a specific point in Ned’s life and as he swam further, more trouble arose, first in odd rumblings, building to stark desolation. I pictured the pools like a timeline, this one day spanning decades. That is just how I imagined it, of course, and maybe no one else will agree. Or maybe it really is just that one could be so delusional, in denial, disconnected, that when reality hits it can feel like a lifetime in a day.
ReplyDeleteFrom the very beginning I felt like there was something off in this story, something unsettling, something that made me feel damp and heavy and cold. I’m trying to figure out what precisely, how exactly Cheever spurred that reaction out of me with his prose. Maybe it is how slow, how calmly the narrative moves along. I feel as though the story and realizations therein creep up, both on the character of Ned, but also on the reader.
It’s like this: You know those summer storms that just pick up out of seemingly nowhere? Suddenly it’s dark and the wind is picking up and everything that’s alive just disappears to wherever they disappear to--holes or trees or whatever. When I was a kid, the wait before the storm hit made me feel sick to my stomach. Like something terrible was about to happen. I wasn’t afraid of rain or thunder or lightening, the actual storm didn’t bother me. But the odd moments before the storm I had this horrible sinking feeling. Maybe it had something to do with pressure changes or maybe this is something everyone experiences? Anyway, reading this story reminded me of that.
Am I doing this, right? Is this how I’m supposed to respond to these blog things?
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ReplyDeleteI do love this story. I’ve read it at least three or four times and I enjoy it more as I’ve grown older. Maybe it’s being able to remember and appreciate the suburban lifestyle I grew up in. Maybe it’s the fact that the Cheever and I share a love of getting slowly drunk and breaking into swimming pools. I think it’s both. Also, in my head I cast the role of “Ned” as a present day Rob Lowe. I’m not totally sure why, but it works and I suggest it for everyone.
ReplyDeleteI know this story takes place in just a “suburb” but I always imagined this neighborhood was a higher income level than just a normal suburb. Even in California middle class areas don’t have beautiful pools and lavish dinner parties on Sunday afternoons- “The Swimmer” takes place in an upper-class area, I imagine. I thought I’d take this opportunity to respond to a story that deals with the trappings of wealth to deal with my own feelings on great wealth in literature. I hate wealth. I do. I shouldn’t say it and it’s completely unfair but when I see, hear, or read about someone’s lavish mansion or $400K car I want to punch things. I’m not a member of Occupy Wall St. or anything; opulence just personally offends me. I have a hard time with any plot that is “This character has it all- except happiness!” And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone on this.
I can’t read The Great Gatsby anymore without rolling my eyes. HBO’s Entourage could’ve been renamed “Douchebags with Problems” and instead of “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” we now have “Undercover Boss” and “The Real Housewives of…” The public doesn’t want to see rich people enjoying their possessions and living happy lives anymore, no, we’d much rather watch them pick up garbage and fight each other. And I’m totally fine with that. Because that tells us that being a wealthier person definitely does not make you a better person, and that’s true. I just hope we can all acknowledge that it sucks to be poor. And often times a poor person’s crisis is a wealthy person’s annoyance.
So, while I can still try to relate to a super rich character in fiction, I find it much harder than I used to. I don’t know if it’s envy or bitterness…but it’s probably one of those two. I hope I figure out a way to get over this, because certainly the wealthy man can be interesting and compelling and a poor man can be dull and detached. Also, I’d like to say if I became super rich tomorrow I would absolutely buy a mansion, a $500K car and anything gold I could get my hands on. You may call me a hypocrite but…yea I’m a hypocrite. Swim Rob Lowe. Swim!
I like what Richard Russo had to say in his introduction about the narrator of Cheever’s “The Swimmer,” but I’m not sure if I entirely agree. On page 368 of the anthology, Russo writes, “Here, though, the easygoing, unreliable first-person narrator of the earlier story is replaced by a merciless omniscience that somehow (and what a neat trick it is) allows us to see Neddy for the fool he is without ever losing sympathy for him.” I became very interested in this “neat trick” and how Cheever was able to pull off such a feat, but in my own reading I don’t think I would describe the narrator of “The Swimmer” as an “omniscience.” If I’m equipped with the right language to speak about narrators in fiction, then my understanding is that there are two types of third-person narrators: omniscient ones and close, or “limited,” ones. (Perhaps close and limited are two different things?) I don’t mean to suggest that the narrator of “The Swimmer” has limited knowledge, so maybe “omniscience” is the proper term, but to me it seems to discount how close the narrator is to Neddy and no one else. If the narrator were truly omniscient, according to my understanding, then s/he (it?) might give us some insight into the minds of other characters, but here instead we see and hear the supporting cast only as they appear to Neddy. Even when we hear Grace Biswanger’s dialogue about the protagonist’s financial troubles, we only receive it because “he heard Grace at his back” (407). We learn about Neddy’s denial and repressed memories and troubled life, not because an all-knowing narrator tells us so, but because the people around Neddy remind him of his unfortunate circumstances. Because the narrator sticks to describing what Neddy is thinking and doing and sensing and feeling, we slowly get glimpses of the sad truth at the same times they are revealed to Neddy. I believe that all signs point to the narrator knowing only as much as Neddy knows, which is necessary for telling this story in a compelling way that keeps us interested and engaged. For these reasons, I feel that Richard Russo neglected the importance of the close, not omniscient, third-person narrator in John Cheever’s “The Swimmer.”
ReplyDeleteThe first thing I noticed in “The Swimmer” was the way John Cheever managed to keep me off balance from the start. With his introduction at the church where parishioners “might” be heard discussing how much they had been drinking. The very first detail is one that only “might” which set me off on the wrong foot even though the detail seemed to flow into more grounded ones.
ReplyDeleteSimilarly I was thrown of by Neddy’s plan to swim across country, which gave me a distorted impression of the amount of land he would cover and how the houses with the pools where spaced out. It seemed to me that Neddy had a very distorted view himself. He left his wife at the Westerhazy’s pool and set off on this apparently long journey back home. It struck me as odd that the only thing his wife would say was “where are you going” as well. It tipped me off that something was wrong with the perception I was getting.
I think this was part of Cheever’s patterns, these little moments that made me stop and question what I had read. As they increased in frequency it stopped being Cheever’s writing and started hinting at Ned’s perceptions. I picked up on another pattern: each time that Ned remarks on the weather- be it in the beginning and the summers day, or the storm that kicks up on page 403 and take the autumn leaves away – each observation was quickly followed with a reassessment of his mood. More than that, the season he observes seems to be directly connected to the mood he was feeling.
I realized that the story’s wasn’t contained in a single day as Ned started aging with each pool hop and the seasons came back around. After that I began to wonder if the season played more of a role. Since his fantasizes of the good life seem to revolve around swimming pools and outdoor parties, I began to think he had a harder time repressing the negative in the winter and on cold and rainy days. Maybe it’s just me but it seems like Neddy has seasonal depression, something he couldn’t cover up.
In “The Swimmer,” Neddy’s story is surreal from the start, not in the narration but in the plot, and this is what engages the reader and allows for a smooth transition into surreal narration later on. The pattern of the narration submerges the reader with detail and voice and hooks the reader with a strange event – there is a realistic party, and then there is Neddy’s unrealistic plan to swim across the county in a river made of pools.
ReplyDeleteThe reader may believe the first few events, the first few pools traveled through; Neddy’s interactions with his neighbors and reactions to circumstances are unbelievable, but that is why they are being written about. Suspension of disbelief only goes so far, though, and there is a certain point at which the reader begins to lose faith in what is going on as an actual trail of events. This point may come early on, as there are hints dropped regarding multiple different seasons.
Only once his neighbor makes a comment about a change in conditions Neddy does not remember does he notice his weight loss and the change of weather. However, he does not hesitate to point out immediately his memory lapse and coping mechanism. Once it is pointed out, it is not hidden from the reader by the narration, and the last few events are viewed in light of the new information rather than subverting it any further.
Neddy’s situation is not explained, but aspects are roughly understood. The surrealism is no longer a worry, since the surreal events are no longer supposed to be believed as actual, linear events.
“Goodbye, My Brother,” holds a similar theme without the use of surrealism. Though it is not the only theme of the story, there is a strong element of living in the past and reclaiming youth as an effort to avoid current events and struggles and stressors. The narrative, however, is very straightforward (except for a few moments) and realistically detailed. The protagonists focuses on other people living in the past as he does, and also talks about his brother’s condescension of doing such a thing.
It is interesting to think that he is the same protagonist as is featured in “The Swimmer”. Both live in memories of the past. The narrator of “Goodbye, My Brother” does so consciously, as do those around him, except for his brother. The narrator of “The Swimmer” does so unconsciously, forgets that he is even doing it, until it is pointed out to him. Perhaps, after his brother leaves his life for the final time, Neddy has to one to remind him not to slip into his memories, and it becomes a compulsion he can no longer control.
While reading this story, I couldn't help but think about the title of our class, "and then what happened.?" It made me pay closer attention to detail than perhaps I would have otherwise. We know that Neddy dove into the artesian well, but without the extra details, we wouldn't know that he swam a choppy crawl, or what he was thinking while swimming. I know detail is something I need to add more of in my writing and that is what I will try to do.
ReplyDeleteIt was a brisk morning when Stanley left his house, beginning his morning walk to Dunharf's. The wind was cold, and snow blew through the air. Stanley lifted his left arm as he walked, shielding his face from the razor-like specks of ice, which were sharp enough to give even his pace a light windburn.
Stanly work for a paper company called Dunherf's Fine Paper Products. Their known slogan was "Our products are not the best, nor the cheapest, but the will get the job done. When you choose Dunherf's, you've chosen the right turf." It was one of those stupid slogans that tries to hard to rhyme the last phrase. What's with that anyway? I'm sorry, I got off topic, I was talking about Stanley. He is in the pulp and paper department of Dunherfs, where he is in quality control. He has to insure no product is faulty. It doesn't pay much, but it is enough for Stanley to get by. He hopes to have a raise soon and purchase a car, because, did I mention it is absolutely freezing here, I mean big winter snow storm. Seriously, it is making me cold just thinking about it.
Neddy, the protagonist in “The Swimmer,” reminded me of a child. While I was reading, I could not get the image of an eight year old boy wearing an Indiana Jones hat, ready for an adventure, out of my head. In my eyes, that is how Neddy acts in this story. He is excited at the idea of swimming home, calling himself “a pilgrim, an explorer, a man with a destiny.” This is sort of how a child “plays pretend,” climbing up a mountain of couch cushions or destroying evil in his backyard.
ReplyDeleteNeddy takes his odyssey seriously, focusing on the fun adventures of life instead of the messy reality. When one of the pools on his route has been drained—bringing him momentarily back to reality—he is more disappointed than he should be. In his day to day life, he pushes away his misfortunes, refusing to deal with them. He wonders if “…his gift for concealing painful facts let him forget that he had sold his house, that his children were in trouble…” He hides from painful truths and the reality of growing up by searching for ways to feel youthful and free. Here he reminds me again of a child, stuffing his fingers in his ears and humming loudly when someone says something he doesn’t want to hear.
Like Richard Russo said in his introduction, the third person omniscient view helped me have sympathy for Neddy. If Neddy had been narrating his own story, his voice probably would’ve seemed superficial and shallow. Through third person, we are able to take a step back—out of Neddy’s head—and see the full picture.
Patterns. I’ve never consciously noticed them in very many short stories, and I couldn’t readily remember the ones in which I did notice. Now that they have been brought to my attention, I see how effective they can be. One pattern that stuck out to me was the progression (and even deterioration) of Neddy’s mind and body. Neddy was described in the beginning as being youthfully slender and fit. However, as the story progresses, as he hauls himself out of one pool and into the next, Neddy noticeably tires out. His arms begin to shake and his muscles burn after continuous exertion. So, as it goes along, it feels like his body is slowing down, aging. At the same time, his mind is working backwards, in a sense. With each new pool, he gets a stronger idea that he might be missing something, forgetting something. Neddy slowly starts to remember the things he had repressed, the circumstances surrounding his wife and children. It’s the simultaneous increasing and decreasing that interests me. That is, while his body is “decreasing,” his memory is “increasing.” When the reader finally reaches the end of the story, Neddy is weary of body and finally illuminated in mind. I’d like to think that the moment of realization at the end of the story is almost exactly how Neddy felt when whatever misfortune or tragedy that befell him in the past happened.
ReplyDeleteI loved the way it all pulled together at the end, in that moment where Neddy looks inside the house and sees it empty. I really liked how Cheever neglected to get too inside Neddy’s head, so that we see exactly what he sees—the empty house—without any influence of emotion or thought. Even though the truth of the situation involving Neddy’s family is ambiguous (despite the fact we were even given a few clues about it), we know enough of the action at the end to experience the kind of response that Cheever had been setting up for throughout the story. I think it’s a brilliant way to slowly transition a character to the most crucial point of the story. I really admire how Cheever was able to build the tension and then release it at the perfect moment. That’s what I enjoy most in stories and that’s what I endeavor to do when I write.
At first it starts out as a seemingly harmless and casual tale. Ned goes for a swim across the pools of several neighbors – a stretch of water he calls the Lucinda River after his wife and along the way we learn interesting things about him and his neighbors and his relationship with his neighbors.
ReplyDeleteI am not sure if I was reading too fast but at first it was unclear what was being stated – I thought it was an actual river than ran through the yards of all the neighbors’ not just little stretches of pools but maybe I’m misinterpreting it.
As the story progresses, Ned is confused by little things – like the fact the Lindleys and the Welchers both seemed to have moved away or gone away and there was no sign of either family. The Lindley’s horse tracks were overgrown and the Welcher home had a ‘For Sale’ sign on it. He doesn’t remember details like when Mrs. Levy brought the Japanese lanterns, though this is a minor detail, not as big as two whole families relocating or mysteriously missing from Ned’s memory. Though these ‘missing’ families could be easily explained as perhaps Ned simply wasn’t paying attention one gets the implication that he should and does know everyone around here therefore he should remember that the Lindleys and Welchers have gone or moved away.
During his 'exploration' he didn't care for interruptions and he ignored any tittering ridicules of passersby while on his 'portage' to the swimming pool – the first thing that really caught my attention was when Mrs.Halloran asked him about the sold house and his daughters adn he didn't remember.
We begin to question his loyalty to his wife when we learn of his affair with another woman – when did this affair happen anyway? Before his wife ? (but then this other woman wouldn't be refered to as a mistress)
And then we are forced to question the very integrity of the main character as the story comes to close with him banging on the doors of his empty and abandoned house.
How did he end up there? Is it some sort of weird anomaly? Was he imagining being at the Westrhazys with his wife? Where are his daughters and what happened to them? So many unanswered questions and the story gives us no easy answers.
So I'm going to be completely different and post a creative response.
ReplyDeleteIt had been one of the hottest days of the year, the humidity driving people inside to their air conditioned houses or to their pools. A few white clouds hung in the deep blue sky, separated as if there were huge oceans in between. Everyone complained of being hot, sticky, and too sleepy to do anything. Raquel Adams lay on the dry green grass with an empty water bottle waiting for the clouds to pass by over her friend Laurie’s house, which stood at one of end of the street. Laurie lay on a towel letting the sun tan her skin as she read a magazine.
Raquel sat up and began to climb one of the trees in the backyard after feeling restless and bored all of the sudden. She reached to the top and overlooked the whole neighborhood seeing trees in almost every backyard. If she had the right momentum and power, she thought she could jump from tree to tree without touching the ground to get to her house a couple of miles away.
“I’ll be right back, there is something I need to do,” Raquel said.
“Whatever,” Laurie said. Raquel checked to make sure her blue jean shorts and yellow bikini top were secured before she launched herself to the next tree, which was couple of inches away. She pointed her feet and grabbed onto the branch just like she used to during gymnast lessons months ago. She pulled herself up and walked down the branch to the next-door neighbor, the Lakers who knew Raquel since she was very small. Raquel hung from the branch and grabbed a glass of water and drank it before she disappeared. Mrs. Laker saw her move and chuckled to herself as she walked inside the house. Raquel ran down the branch and swung to the next tree and to the next until she reached a small party at the Russells'. Raquel sat in the tree slightly exhausted watching the kids jumping in and out of the pool. The Russell twins, sunbathing on the lounge chairs with their long blonde hair all perfect and neatly brushed.
“When will she ever learn that eavesdropping is so last year,” one of the twins said.
“Never, she is too stupid to remember. Ever since she got into that--” the other twin said. Raquel shook her head and continued her way she knew they weren’t the most honest people in town. The house next to the Russells’ also had a party yet it was all indoors. Raquel stopped and saw her old friend Sharon sitting outside with her make-up all ruined. Raquel shook a small branch by accident and Sharon looked up with her hand covering her eyes.
“Is that you Raquel? What are you doing up there?” Sharon asked.
“Just monkeying around. Hey would you mind getting me some water. I’ve been swinging around for a mile at least and I’m sort of thirst,” Raquel said.
“Sure. What are you trying to do? Getting ready for a circus audition?” Sharon threw up a small water bottle. Raquel drank it as quickly as she could and threw the bottle back down.
“Now why would I do that?”
“Because you’re good,”
“Thanks. I’ll see you around. I’m going to try to swing home without touching the ground,” Raquel said as she pushed herself off of the branch. Sharon giggled to herself as she watched Raquel swung to the other trees. Raquel made it halfway home when she reached Laurie’s best friend Annie’s house which was quiet. Raquel stopped and heard Annie talking on the phone. Normally she would have just past by but Annie mentioned her name with a mocking tone.
When I got a few paragraphs in I honestly thought this was going to be horribly boring, however this is one got its way onto the list with The Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides. Which I didn’t like until the last chapter and now remains as one of my favorites.
ReplyDeleteWithin the piece I really enjoyed the idea of the American Dream, and it could be because it’s been mentioned in classes frequently since last spring, but it’s really intense in this piece. Neddy portrays his ideas as well as the ideas of those around him of what the American Dream actually is. Big homes that are close together (I assume and mentally pictured them as large developments or cul-de-sac neighborhoods), each house has a swimming pool and some sort of shrubbery around it along with a fence. Each house features a married couple that loves to play host four times a year like clockwork. Maids, cooks, bartenders, and caterers are also all within the piece and each house seems to have them.
I would like to know what it means for Neddy to have began at the Westerhazy’s pool and not his own, I feel as if this is significant in some way. Also, why is the pool green? I feel like his pool would be this way not his wealthy friends, if any pool, seeing as he didn’t have the money to keep up.
I thought Neddy’s plan to swim ‘across the country’ was really entertaining; despite the fact that it was a drunken thought, though those seem to be the best. When I first read this I mistook it as him wanting to swim around the world and since I saw it as a cul-de-sac I saw him going around from house to house swimming in a circle. This could be read as around HIS world, aka the people around him, be they friends or not, and the cul-de-sac was his world.
To me he seemed really upset with the idea of ‘drinking too much’ in the beginning, and I could very well be pulling that feeling out of nothing, but why else would he bring it up? Anyway, I got that impression in the beginning and as I read on I believed him to have a drinking problem but not be aware of it, much like everything else that’s happening in his life.
The tips of Sarah Josephine’s fingers were like corrugated diamonds, and she used them to press against the tight coils of her cello’s strings. It was morning when she began her playing— well before the sunrise and while the others in the house were still fast asleep. In those early hours, Sarah made sure that her bow, held in her other hand, only barely grazed the surface of the strings, so as not to wake anyone up prematurely. When they did rise, though, they followed the sound as if it were an apple pie warming in the oven (something else she was known to make).
ReplyDelete“What wonderful music to start a day to, dear,” her mother smiled, swaying her head slightly towards one shoulder and back again towards the other. Her father, not typically much for impulse, followed soon after, twisting his arms out in front of him in a gypsy-like dance move. She looked out of her bedroom door at his attempt, laughing, and he laughed back, leaving her alone with her music without further distraction.
As the sun broke through the shades of her window behind her, she began to play louder, pressing gradually harder on the stings with both her bow and her hardened fingertips. She played through breakfast, and at lunch when her mother called up the staircase for her, Sarah answered only by placing the bow on the floor and placing her other hand’s fingers near the bridge of the instrument. She then plucked the strings at a speed that blurred them, so much so that she decided for a slower tempo, to reassure herself that each individual finger was still there.
I’m going to use this story to draw attention to the other meaning of “And then what?” that’s been nagging at me for the past few days. We’ve been talking about the one you get when your reader is sitting there, nodding and saying, yes, yes, and then what? But there’s another “and then what”—this one comes at the end stories that don’t leave the reader satisfied. I see it as “the bad one” because usually if I say it, I don’t like the story. As people mentioned above, “The Swimmer” is definitely the type of story that can have readers saying “Yes, yes, and then what?” as it progresses, but it’s (unfortunately, in my opinion) also the type of story that leaves readers saying, “And then what?” when it ends.
ReplyDeleteI knew the ending before I read the story, so I was aware of all the signals throughout, but I still found myself surprised when it ended. It’s the type of story that, if it came up in workshop, I’d be tempted to give the critique “I actually flipped the page to see if there was more,” and the all-knowing, “this isn’t the ending!” I’m not sure why the ending disappointed me so much. I think I can still say I liked the story. I really enjoyed it, in fact, up until the last paragraph when I realized, okay, he isn’t going to explain this at all. I think the end felt a little anticlimactic. Maybe because the ending was no twist or surprise, the “you got me!” or “so that’s what’s going on!” reaction wasn’t there to cushion its landing. For this reader, the revelation wasn’t payoff enough.
Still, I do like the story, it’s now my favorite I’ve ever read by him, and I think Cheever uses certain techniques masterfully. I like Alexis’s mention of the surreal concept of pool hopping opening up the story to the more surreal direction it takes later on. I think she’s right that that as a technique contributes to Cheever to get away with it, and I think it’s a good example to look at because I’ve often wondered why some authors can get away with extra-normal occurrences without being branded genre-writers.
Also, “The Swimmer” is a great study in tension. My favorite moment occurs in the Levy’s yard. Everything’s been too pleasant and quaint. Something’s coming, just like a storm had to come from the city of clouds. The line about sadness and autumn gives us a heads up, the first sign of darkness (even the storm passes pleasantly) and then comes the line, “he was surprised to find it overgrown with grass and all the jumps dismantled.” For whatever reason, that line completely struck me. I wanted this to stay enjoyable and indulgent and nice, I wanted this place to be some abnormally affluent, abnormally jovial town. But that line lets us know more is going on than what we or Neddy are aware of. This line is the first hint at a disconnect between our perspective character and the real world he lives in.
Of course, by the end we find out just how severe the disconnect really is, and even if it doesn’t come as a surprise, it comes with a definite emotional toll.
“The Swimmer” is about Neddy Merrill’s journey home from the Westerhazy’s pool. It seems as if Neddy is sees the world through rose-colored (or light green-colored to be accurate) glasses. He turns the simple task of getting to his house into a cross-country adventure. In a way it almost reminded me of Forest Gump for a bit, how he seemed to just keep traveling on and on, simply because he felt like it but not because he was actually focused on reaching his goal. I suppose that idea is debatable because there were a number of times when he would leave the company of his neighbors in order to get back to his mission of returning home.
ReplyDeleteWhat I didn’t understand was how this river (which he names after his wife Lucinda) connects pool to pool between all these houses. Perhaps I just misread something, but I went back over it and still didn’t make any sense to me. The whole story was just very surreal. Perhaps it’s the way he has this fantastical approach to his conventional way to get back home. Or maybe it’s the fact that even though he’s randomly showing up in people’s yards and yet none of them seem to wonder why he is there. More than anything I think it’s probably the fact that Neddy has a warped sense of space and time. Perhaps it’s because he’s an old man losing his mind, but he seems to age decades throughout the course of the story and this simple trip takes so long that by the time he finally reaches his house, it’s the middle of the night and his family is gone. The reader sees him grow and change throughout the course of the story.
The way all the elements of this story fit together I do not think it’s meant to be interpreted concretely. Everything is a metaphor, perhaps for the journey of life. One thing that sticks out in my mind is how he starts out as this deluded young man and ends up this old man who seems to have a few screws loose. There is always some source of his warped sense of reality, but he changes throughout it. Maybe it’s to show how people change and yet still stay the same.
This story, at first, appeared to be very straightforward and rather plain. A man, Neddy Merrill, decides to leave his friends’ pool to become “an explorer” of sorts and swim his way back to his own home, right miles away, using a route of swimming pools along the way.
ReplyDeleteHowever, the audience may sit a little straighter when the first prick of strangeness is woven into the story. Neddy Merrill does not remember a local family, the Welchers, putting their house up for sale, and yet there is the sign in the front yard and the pool is drained. It had “seemed only a week or so ago” that Neddy and his wife, Lucinda, had last declined an invitation for dinner from the Welchers.
It is here that we are given a clue. “Was his memory failing or had he so disciplined it in the repression of unpleasant facts that he had damaged his sense of truth?” There it is. That is where the readers can go back to and feel the slight explanation click into place. The following interactions and conversations that Merrill experiences are equally off balance. Apparently, a friend of his had surgery three years ago, he put his own house up for sale, he is having financial difficulties, and something is wrong with his “poor children,” even though he was under the impression that his four daughters were at home, having lunch and playing tennis. All of this change and unhappy news had somehow managed to escape him.
When the conclusion of the story is reached and Merrill finally returns back to his own house, he finds it locked and empty. The time of year has seemed to pass from midsummer through autumn and winter during the course of his one day journey. He has gone from a “youthful” man in the beginning of the story and sliding down banisters in his own home, to a winded and tired man too spent to lift himself out of the last pool, even though he despised when men entered or exited a swimming pool by easing themselves onto the ladder.
I can only conclude that our protagonist, Neddy Merrill, spent his life underwater. He did not raise his head above the surface enough to see his life passing before him and when he was finally tired of swimming, there was no resemblance of a known life for him to return to.
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