Neither Cecilia nor Mark had nice characters; all the same, this encounter presents them in an unfair light. On a long journey, the heart hangs dull in the shaken body, nerves ache, senses quicken, the brain like a horrified cat leaps clawing from object to object, the earth whisked by at such speeds seems ephemeral, trashy; if one is not sad one is bored.
First off, one would naturally assume reading this out of context that Cecilia and Mark are destined to be the star-crossed lovers in this tragic tale of romance gone awry. In fact, both pursue and are pursued by others; there is no romance between them. Secondly, the style in this excerpt spans the entire narrative: it is rich in metaphor and imagery and the sentences tend away from the short and sweet. Also notice that the third-person narrator intrudes upon the narrative to provide a personal opinion.
But, from beyond, the North—ice and unbreathed air, lights whose reflections since childhood had brightened and chilled her sky, touching to life at all points a sense of unshared beauty—reclaimed her for its clear solitude.
The trip which takes characters “to the north” begins geographically with Cecilia moving to London from Italy. There is more to this move than mere geography, however. Northward movement covers a topography that expands to include psychology, philosophy, spirituality and mortality. In essence, going “to the north” is a metaphor for going to death. The symbolism taken to its logical extreme would situate the end of life at the North Pole, but since the movement north is metaphorical, do not take that concept too literally. Bear in mind that Cecilia’s movement from Italy to London is occasioned by her recent widowhood. Cecilia’s sister-in-law Emmeline is the central character associated with the above quote and her movement north is occasioned by the recognition of the end of her romance with Mark.
“We’ve got a slogan: `Move dangerously’—a variant of `Live Dangerously,’ you see. It took us some time to think out, but I think it’s effective. We’re having it stamped on our circulars.”
The fundamental thematic conceit of movement as geographical travel covering up emotional stasis is made concrete by the work of Emmeline. She runs a travel agency. Just as there is irony in her name—she is rather detached emotionally than warm and engaging—it also rather ironic that the slogan of her business is move dangerously. In truth, Emmeline arranges a very carefully designed itinerary for his clients while she herself never really moves much at all, either literally or metaphorically. And when she finally does move—through her romance with Mark—she just winds up heading to the north. At least she finally lived a little dangerously on the edge, however. So there’s that.
There was a slight movement about the room; an mistakable protest. Markie said nothing, looking at Emmeline oddly. Cecilia exclaimed: “Oh no, darling, you can’t. She mustn’t, must she, Markie? You’ll get a taxi.” “Easily,” agreed Markie, fixing his eyes on Emmeline. Julian, looking from him to her, thought: “Tragedy is disparity,” and did not know what this meant.
This is a perfect example of how the writing style of the novel—and, indeed, the bulk of Bowen’s work—is somewhat allusive and opaque, often requiring the reader to do more than simply read the words that have been written. In this particular case, the most important element here are those words which do not appear: what does “tragedy is disparity” really mean? What does it mean that Julian (Cecilia’s actual romantic partner) think it, but doesn’t understand it? What’s up with Markie’s odd glance toward Emmeline? And why, exactly, is Cecilia so excitable? Some answers will be forthcoming while others will be left up to the reader to decode on their own.
