Collaborative Project on "Lost Lear" by Dan Colley

 

“Lost Lear” by Dan Colley de Ana María Sánchez Mosquera

"Consumed" by Karis Kelly

 

The Truth will Out: Intergenerational Trauma in 

Karis Kelly’s Consumed

Source here

“Consumed” by Karis Kelly belongs to what has been deemed “New Writing,” a type of contemporary writing characterized by unconventional and fragmented language, confessional in tone, culturally, socially, and politically committed. Karis Kelly has been awarded “The Women’s Prize for Playwriting in 2022” for this play.

In her acknowledgements, Karis Kelly draws you into the play and to her voice behind the play. She thanks those who have been with her at the helm of this journey, those who have unlocked something vital in her and made her pursue the dream of putting it down in words. She devotes this play to her mother, to all Northern Irish women, “for your grit, your resilience, your way with words. For your humour, generosity and incredible revolutionary spirit … I am so proud of us, of all the conflicting truths we hold, and the peace we have maintained in this island.”

There we were, we, all, a community of voices, in the reading club, Thursday session, Friday session,  attuned, digging out the meanings, and unlayering the words in an enthusiastic unison of getting to the bone of it. We talked about the layering of many worlds (Petra / Celia /Begoña / Miriam) in the play (political, cultural, social, environmental and feminist issues at stake), the historical moments implied (The Troubles, the famine in Northern Ireland), the many identities intersecting, deranged Gilly (Begoña), their family constellations (Geni) about them venting trauma, hiding trauma, the difficulties of the verbal pyrotechnics of theatre in written word (Eva / Nuria) or the easiness of the swift exchanges (Sandra).

Karis Kelly says in an interview that the play has sprung as a necessity to release intergenerational trauma and catalyse, in a cathartic way, an eating disorder she suffered for many years. She mentions in this interview that Northern Ireland has the highest rate of OCD.

The cover of the book illustrates the four generations through four women’s heads embedded in a puzzle:

“I was created in the womb of the womb of women in Ireland” (Muireann, page 61)

The play begins in a realistic, everyday style, lightened by touches of comedy that soften the tragedy beneath. This gentle bathos establishes the mood for the events to come.

The action is set in Bangor, Ireland, but the space is reduced to a house, a kitchen, and four characters. Props perfectly placed, a gleaming surface of order opens the first scene but havoc unfolds towards the end. The house has a human quality of its own, with its cracks and crevices that mirror the cracks and crevices of these four generations of women (Mónica’s comparison with “The Fall of the House of Usher”)

It is Eileen’s 90th Birthday, but the story is not about a Birthday; it is about the tendrils and the roots that spread and lie hidden. 

Eileen has lived through the Troubles, Irish famine; she was an Ulster Scot who changed her religious beliefs for a bowl of soup (Geni / Sonia / Conchi) and does not understand Muireann’s new world of oversized clothes, and gluten-free meals, which she jokes about, “gluten”... is that German? (Belén).

Gilly is trapped in provincial Bangor, “sacrificed herself” for her daughter-- she has sent her to University in London-- lives in the mind, and suffers from OCD, hoarding stuff. She is constantly doing things not to think. They are both part of what Muireeann (4th generation) will call in the play “the wall of silence in Northern Ireland”. Both mother and daughter, Eileen and Gilly, cannot bear to look at each other. Gilly’s husband is off stage, hanging behind a tetris of cardboard boxes that she has herself collected, suicide. The party must go on, and the man remains in the closet; tragedy unfolds. Gilly’s husband partly materializes the uncomfortable hidden truths that are to be obviated, the corpse in the cellar, which echoes that famous Victorian quote: “skeleton in the closet” (Belén) :

“The phrase first appeared in print in the 1816 issue of The Eclectic Review and was used by writers like William Makepeace Thackeray in The Newcomes to suggest hidden, embarrassing family secrets.”Source: here

All the men in the play are absent; it is only Muireann’s boyfriend who accepts her as she is (Emma).

Jenny (third generation) forgets herself in drinking, resents her mother, Gilly, and is cheated by her husband, Ronnan. Muireann (fourth generation) has an eating disorder, is committed to feminism, environmentalism, and political and social awareness. She bears the Irish name that no one can pronounce, lives in London, and feels astride between two worlds. Her eating disorder turns into a metaphor for all the women in the play: hiding, controlling, stuffing the truth inside…

"You suck everything! Consume everything! All the space! All the air"  (Muireann to Jenny, brought forward by Servando)

She believes that intergenerational trauma is passed on through the genes, one could adduce an expiation move rather than a scientific one (Nuria): 

“It is called epigenetics. In between the genes. All the stuff we can’t see. So—so—so, loads of things can be passed down. But they’ve thought for years that this stuff is genetic. Like, they think that there’s maybe a suicide gene...And, maybe, maybe ...an alcoholism gene”

It is precisely Muireann at the end of the play that drags Eileen to embrace the past, to dig out little Robbie’s corpse below the kitchen table, buried during The Troubles after a bullet passed through his throat. Eileen must get in the mud, enter the hole, and see the past in the eyes:

Muireann: “We have to look at the thing. The thing we all refuse to look at… Come on Granny-leen. They starve. You starve. We starve. Us. It. Them. A change in the genes.The carried shame. It goes on and on forever. Don’t you want to end this? It’s me. It’s me that has to carry it. Please! We can end it. Together. For me.

The play ends in a surrealistic way with the "walls swelling and expanding, the ribcage of the house cracking open, all the wounds now letting light through, the house acquiring a human quality to it (Celia / Servando pointed to this surrealistic tone).

READING PLANNER 2025_2026

READING PLANNER_ BOOKS UP_ 2025_2026_ Ana Sánchez de Ana María Sánchez Mosquera

Chimamanda Adichie by Belén Tizón

THE THING AROUND YOUR NECK-CHIMAMANDA NGOZI ADICHE de Belen T

Begoña Rodríguez on "Alias Grace"

 “Duplicity versus duality” in Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace

by Begoña Rodríguez

Susanna and the Elders by Artemisia Gentileschi

“I felt a Cleaving in  my Mind-

As if my Brain had split-

I tried to match it - Seam by Seam-

But could not make it fit” .       

                                                              Emily Dickinson, 1860        

“The true character of the historical Grace Marks remains an enigma,” said Margaret Atwood, and in the novel, as well. The title” Alias Grace” is chosen by the author on purpose. Grace is the name which appears in the newspapers, Penitentiary records, poems..  Even Reverend Verringer refers to her as “the woman known to us as Grace.”  It is the Grace whose identity or, rather, identities are created by “others.” However, the novel begins with the protagonist and narrator's description of the scene preceding Nancy's murder ,of which she has been convicted. She omits details which can incriminate herself, ”This is what I told Dr.Jordan, when we came to that part of the story.”  She is supposed to suffer amnesia. In addition, the narrator / protagonist uses the name and the persona of Mary Whitney, supposedly an old friend dead a long time ago, on several occasions. So, Who is Grace , has the protagonist a split personality , a dual nature? or is it duplicity? 

Clearly, its free indirect style and the variety of narrative techniques, that is to say, quotes from Primary sources, intertextuality, poems, but, above all, the dual narrative contribute to ambiguity. Thus, an unreliable first person narrator in total control of what she wants to tell and an omniscient narrator, when it comes to Simon Jordan, alternate to construct the story of the female protagonist, an Irish immigrant struggling to survive in a hostile world and eventually convicted of double murder and protected by Double Jeopardy. 

From the start, to the public eye is always Grace Marks. However, the name and persona of Mary Whitney ("white water" in Old English) appears several times during her narrative and comes to Grace's rescue twice, both in private circles: when Grace escapes with McDermott and checks in at the tavern as Mary Whitney and, more importantly , during the Neuro-Hypnotic session at the Governor's with her friend Jeremiah, alias Dr.Dupont, leading the show.  So, pretending to be Mary Whitney saves her life …or is she Mary Whitney?

According to Grace´s account, both women had met at Mr. Alderman Parkinson´s and influences her a great deal. Once Mary dies, so we are told, her spirit is not let out and stays “in” Grace, who shortly afterwards leaves the house. It is now that we see her taking decisions for the first time in her life… Who died there? a woman called Mary Whitney or is it a metaphor for the death of the old Grace.? In other words, is it possible to think that Mary Whitney” dies” at that house, presumably after having an abortion, and a new woman is born? Then, Mary Whitney would be Grace´s alter ego…

Obviously, there is an inner metamorphosis. Grace turns into a learned woman. When she is shown round Mr. Kinnear’s house, she sees two paintings hanging in his bedchamber, one of them has a naked woman wearing a peacock-feather fan, the other, of a naked woman taking a bath, depicts the story of the Apocrypha entitled “Susanna and the Elders.” Interestingly enough, both paintings anticipate what is going to happen to her. The eyes of the peacock feathers and the Elders symbolize the media scrutiny, the pressure, the lies about her private life and the false interpretations of different societal forces and patriarchal institutions. Grace goes through all this alone during the trial and after she is found guilty.”What cannot be cured or avoided must be endured,” she says and…she does. Afterwards, she will also have to put up with all kinds of hardships at the Women's Penitentiary and at the Asylum.

In the end, the Committee, whose members are clergymen and gentlemen of standing, files a petition for her acquittal. Also Dr. Jordan, in love with her, needs to believe in her innocence. Her amnesia and dedoublement could explain it all. But she eludes him, she is out of grasp. Indeed, Grace is a literate empowered strong-willed woman who perseveres in her goal . Her Pardon. After looking at herself in the mirror and mentioning all the things being said about her, “how can I be all of those different things at once?”, she has earned the right to give her own version and gain Absolution and she does everything within her power to be released …. it is a world ruled by men, though.

Against all odds, Grace is set free and appears sewing her quilt “The Tree of Paradise.” She decides to stitch in it and embroider around it three pieces of cloth from Mary's petticoat, Nancy's dress and the prison´s nightdress, which represent all the women of the Penitentiary. They are all part of the pattern of her life. Imperfect as it is, she is the one and only owner.

Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood

PATCHWORK: SEWING THE FABRIC OF THE NARRATIVE

in 

Margaret Atwood's "Alias Grace" (1996)

“You are what you remember” (Dr Dupont in Alias Grace)

“You are what you forget “(Dr Simon Jordan in Alias Grace)

 

Source: here

Margaret Atwood’s “Alias Grace” published in 1996 is based on a real story of alleged murderess “Grace Marks” who “at age 15/16 was convicted of killing her employer and his mistress with a fellow member of “the help,”, James McDermott. Grace’s trial was highly publicized across Canada, the US, and Europe. Her story soon became sensationalized and romanticized, and the true story seemed to fall by the wayside as the years went on.” Source here

The Quilting process: not the End but the Stitching

Margaret Atwood's “Happy Endings”

Atwood works on a real story, and therein, the end of it is already known. It is the fabric of the findings and diggings in the process of telling that brings significance into the novel through the intersectional territories of science, psychology, history, and identity. Indeed, a poem in the form of a ballad about the “crimes of Thomas Kinnear, Esq. And of his housekeeper, Nancy Montgomery at Richmond Hill and the trials of Grace Marks and James McDermott and the hanging of James McDermott at the New Gaol in Toronto November 21st, 1843 “ precludes the narrative.

Concerning this matter, it is interesting to bring to front Margaret Atwood’s experimental “Happy Endings”: Atwood plays around with the same end but unspins different stories. The aim is not the end but the process, she seems to be pinpointing. At a point in the novel, Grace also reflects on the act of "telling": 

“ When you are in the middle of a story it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion: a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood… It’s only afterward that it becomes anything like a story at all. When you are telling to yourself or to someone else” (page 346 / chapter 33).

Science versus Charlatanism

A full story arch is presented, comprehending Grace Marks’ childhood and her sea travelling from Ireland, to the multiple houses in which she has served till reaching Mr. Kinnear’s. The story (a frame narrative)is told in a retrospective way  from the Penitentiary in which Grace Marks has been confined and is working for the “Governor’s” household.  Her case is further studied by the medical men and other reformists and conservatives to determine whether she might be finally acquitted or found guilty.  Her amnesia, her memory gaps about certain details of the crimes puts her at the beckon and call of inquisitive minds and eyes.

The story is offered in multiple perspectives mainly by Grace Marks herself and Simon Jordan, who shows interest in assembling the forgotten pieces of Kinnear’s and Nancy’s crime by using different psychological and scientific methods to prod Grace into remembering.  Actually, at the end of the narrative, Simon makes reference to Simon the apostle:

"Like my namesake apostle, I have cast my nets into deep waters; though unlike him, I may have drawn up a mermaid, neither fish nor flesh but both at once, and whose song is sweet but dangerous" (page 490 / Chapter 50)

Social contesting forces constitute the backdrop of the novel reformists and conservatives, Catholics and protestants, science and charlatanism. Atwood makes a comprehensive research of the science of the times: theories of mesmerism, neurological-hypnotism, seánces, asylums, institutional mistreatment, anatomy, surgical dissection...to name a few of the approaches presented in the narrative:“The Nineteenth century, he concluded, would be to the study of Mind what the Eighteenth had been to the study of Matter- an Age of Enlightenment” 

Indeed, the precarious conditions of asylums and the deficiencies in the treatment of patients, as well as the double standards contributed to muddled conceptions of psychological treatment.

Sewing the patchwork

Mary Whitney alias Grace versus Grace alias Mary

 Whitney / Dédoublement

The novel unfolds further in the shadows by resorting to rich metaphoric accoutrement such as the pervading patchwork and the quilts as well as oneiric imagery. Apart from an embodiment of sorority and domesticity, the quilts constitute a leitmotif, a metonymic way of putting the strewn pieces together. Grace, Penelope-like in her sewing and Scheherazade-like in her storytelling, engages Dr. Jordan’s attention while sewing as he attempts to unearth the forgotten fragments of her memory.

The novel is  entitled “Alias Grace” whereas Grace’s elopement and posters bear “Alias Mary Whitney”.  This duality plays a paramount role. Mary Whitney, Grace's alter ego, constitutes a lens through which the novel explores  themes of bipolarity, “double-consciousness,” or “dédoublement”. 

Mary Whitney is Grace’s best friend at the Alderman’s. Indeed, when Mary passes away due to a hemorrhage by an abortion malpractice, Grace seems to fall into a trance and believes herself to be Mary. During a séance/hypnotism session, this possession materializes and Mary seems to speak through Grace.  She exonerates her of the crimes committed by alleging her using her body as a shell to do so. Bipolarity? Shenanigans as the men of science seem to bespeak of? 

This duality is further played upon by Grace's secretive and frolic dual nature as to her responses to Dr Jordan.  Both are drawn together in the novel by a series of parallelisms that may trigger the twofold natures at stake in a different direction.

Both are brought together through dreams, and both suffer amnesia. Jordan loses his short term memory after a blast in the American Civil War. The story that rounds the circle of connection is Dr Jordan’s relationship with his landlady: Rachel Humphrey urges Simon Jordan kills her husband so they can be together bring back to mind the story of Mr Kinnear, Nancy Montgomery and Grace Marks

The Tree of Paradise

Grace Mark sews herself a quilt with a tree of paradise, snakes framing it, with all the bits and pieces of all the women that she is, she was, she could be…Mary Whitney, Nancy, Grace Marks...

“On my Tree of Paradise, I intend to put a border of snakes entwined; they will look like vines or just a cable pattern to others, as I will make the eyes very small, but they will be snakes to me; as without a snake or two, the main part of the story would be missing. Some who use this pattern make several trees, four or more in a square or circle, but I am making just one large tree, on a background of white. The Tree itself is of triangles, in two colours, dark for the leaves and a lighter colour for the fruits; I am using purple for the leaves and red for the fruits. They have many bright colours now, with the chemical dyes that have come in, and I think it will turn out very pretty.

But three of the triangles in my Tree will be different. One will be white, from the petticoat I still have that was Mary Whitney’s; one will be faded yellowish, from the prison nightdress I begged as a keepsake when I left there. And the third will be a pale cotton, a pink and white floral, cut from the dress of Nancy’s that she had on the first day I was at Mr. Kinnear’s, and that I wore on the ferry to Lewiston, when I was running away.” (Page 534 Chapter 53)

Language afterthoughts:

Please, find here a link to a corpus of interesting expressions we have gathered from 

the novel.

The Threads of Edith Wharton's Short Stories by Mónica Rodríguez

 On Edith Wharton's Short Stories

by Mónica Rodríguez

 Théobald Chartran (French, 1849 –1907), James Hazen Hyde (1876-1959), 1901. Oil on canvas. New-York Historical  Society, Gift of James Hazen Hyde, 1949.1

Source: https://www.nyhistory.org/exhibitions/beautye28099s-legacy-gilded-age-portraits-america

Edith Wharton published Tales of Men and Ghosts in 1910, following the popular trend of ghost stories started by 19^th-century American writers such as Edgar Allan Poe and Washington Irving. Henry James, whom Edith greatly admired, also wrote ghost fiction, namely, The Turn of the Screw and the novella The Jolly Corner.

Wharton writes mostly about the society she was born into, that of "The Gilded Age" so masterly –and derisively- depicted by Mark Twain in his eponymous novel. This bourgeoning world was led by the New York "aristocracy", i.e., that of the powerful patron families, ruthless and driven by appearance and status. Wharton's stories include adept character studies of the individuals living in this society: the dismissive wealthy members of highest echelons, the upstarts longing to be accepted into the circles of "old money", the "has-beens", the dilettantes in endless pursuit of public acclaim…

The four stories selected for this study have a male protagonist whereas women play a noticeable peripheral role and are often described through the somewhat distorted lens of the men in the story. Wharton does not refrain from transcribing here what she has surely heard –or even said- about certain types of "dull" women, so characteristic in the despotic and harsh New York society she knew extremely well: "At eighteen she had been pretty, and as full of enthusiasm as he. Now she was sour, trivial, insignificant—she had missed her chance of life".

As mentioned earlier, all four stories belong to the literary tradition of "ghost stories" or "ghost fiction". It is worth noting that, although there aren't any ghosts or supernatural phenomena in them, all the protagonists are "haunted" by an obsession, by an unattainable desire that might well be their undoing.

Thus, in The Bolted Door, we are presented with an aspiring playwright who craves fame and recognition but attains neither. Faced with his inability to kill himself, he resorts to confessing a crime he had committed several years earlier in hopes of being sentenced to death and embarks on a desperate quest to be believed… but only to fail again.  In this tale, we find echoes of the "psychological terror" of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories as it is highly reminiscent of some of his tales, for instance, The Tell-Tale Heart or The Black Cat: "Granice was overcome by the futility of any farther attempt to inculpate himself. He was chained to life –a 'prisoner of consciousness'… in the glaring night-hours, when his brain seemed ablaze, he was visited by a sense of his fixed identity of his irreducible, inexpungable selfness, keener, more insidious, more unescapable, than any sensation he had ever known… the feeling that something material was clinging to him, was on his hands and face, and in his throat… it was the sense of his own loathed personality that stuck to his like some thick viscous substance."

Remarkably, the themes of double identity and feelings of psychological alienation, so present is this story ("he sometimes had the mysterious sense of a living metempsycosis, a furtive passage from one identity to another") are to be found as well in Henry James' celebrated ghost story The Jolly Corner, with multiple references to the main character's "alter-ego", "adversary", "his other self" or "presence". Another common trait in both stories is the fact that houses or rooms act as a sort of echo chamber of the protagonist's state of mind: "[Granice] looked slowly about the library, and every object in it stared back at his with a stale unescapable familiarity. How sick he was of looking at that room! It was as dull as the face of a wife one has wearied of." "The long thoroughfare stretched before him, dim and deserted, like an ancient avenue of tombs. But from Denver's house a friendly beam fell on the pavement."

In His Father's Son, the main character's obsession is shown in the sublimation of his yearning for elegance, refinement and social acceptance in his son, whose "ability to do well almost equalled his gift of looking well" although he was, in his father's words, "not a genius". In this way, the coarse protagonist "vibrated exquisitely in response to every imaginative appeal… moved in an enchanted inward world people with all the figures of romance… and to see his vision of himself suddenly projected on the outer world in the shape of a brilliant popular conquering son, seemed to give to that image a belated objective reality." Once more, the alter-ego leitmotif is aptly employed to dwell on the protagonist's elusive aspirations: "He recalled the vision now; and with it came, as usual, its ghostly double: the vision of his young self bending above such a white shoulder and such shining hair."

The abundant imagery of the dichotomy between external appearance and the inner self ("the souls of short-thick men… souls thus encased do not reveal themselves to the casual scrutiny as delicate emotional instruments") echoes back another masterpiece in the Victorian supernatural genre, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

The tale Daunt Diana introduces us to an art collector, a scholar compelled to lower himself in order to survive by "expounding 'the antiquities' to cultured travellers… how it must have seared his soul!" Even when he has entered the circle of the wealthy, he regards the visitors to his newly-acquired collection with supreme disdain: "the worst of all are the ones who know… and yet wouldn't know a Phidias if it stood where they hadn't expected it."

In line with the other stories, he is also a "haunted" man, hankering for the possession of perfect beauty: "he had made himself into this delicate register of perceptions and sensations… only to find that the beauty which alone could satisfy him was unattainable—that he was never to know the last deep identifications which only possession can give." He is not only obsessed with the ideal of finding perfect beauty in art but, crucially, with possessing it, with the prerogative of exclusive enjoyment. In this sense, the kernel of this story powerfully brings to mind another one of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories, The Oval Portrait, in which a painter transfers his wife's youthful beauty to her portrait ("This is indeed Life itself"), causing her untimely death in the process. As a side note, this tale has also been connected to Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray.

In the last short story, The Debt, we meet a maladroit student ("an awkward lout") whom a renowned professor has taken under his wing after perceiving "his gift of accurate observation" although it is also humorously remarked that "he had never known a lad... who gave such promise of uniting an aptitude for general ideas with the plodding patience of the accumulator of facts."

This character shares some striking features with the art collector in the previous story. Thus, the biology student is depicted as "a thinking machine, a highly specialized instrument of precision, the result of a long series of 'adaptations' […] he seemed to have shed his blundering, encumbering personality and come to life as a disembodied intelligence"; interestingly enough, the art collector had undergone a similar process of autodidacticism and adaptation: "during those early years, when he had time to brood over trifles and note imperceptible differences, he gradually sharpened his instinct, […] he had made himself into this delicate register of perceptions and sensations--as far above the ordinary human faculty of appreciation as some scientific registering instrument is beyond the rough human senses."

Naturally, this character is also "haunted" by a fixation, in his case, the relentless pursuit of the scientific truth, even if that means going against the ideas upheld by his beloved mentor. In his conversation with the late professor's son, he graciously acknowledges his tremendous debt towards his protector, but he states that he must "carry on the light", noting that "Men like him [the professor] are the masters, not the servants, of their theories. They respect an idea only as long as it's of use to them, when its usefulness ends they chuck it out".

To conclude, there is a defining feature that pervades all of Edith Wharton's work, her brilliant use of ironic reversal, a tradition firmly associated with Guy the Maupassant's short stories, which Edith Wharton had eagerly read following Henry James' advice.

Irony is then used to establish a divide between what characters wish and what they finally get. This device is masterly exemplified in Daunt Diana's protagonist's predicament: "It was, in short, the old tragedy of the discrepancy between a man's wants and his power to gratify them."

The Bolted Door, a superb comic reversal of the "detective story" genre, shows a man as "ineffectual" as the sister so ungraciously referred to inasmuch as he has failed in each and every one of his life's endeavours.

His father's son also resorts to irony and reversal in presenting a comic transposition of The picture of Dorian Gray. It is fascinating to note that the protagonist's son "embodies" all his father's aspirations of beauty and refinement in a sort of enhanced version of the original self. Irony is also felt in the final twist as this son ultimately disowns his parentage by foolishly assuming that the man on the portrait is his "real" father.

In Daunt Diana and The Debt, the protagonists' driving force lies in their unflinching pursuit of the ideals of perfect beauty and knowledge, respectively. In the case of the art collector, he eventually succeeds in acquiring the coveted Daunt collection… only to realize that possession is not worthwhile without the excitement of the chase. The biology student, in turn, has attained academic recognition after succeeding his mentor and published his masterwork "The Arrival of the Fittest" (note the ironic undertones in the choice of words) but he philosophically reflects that all his endeavours are pointless as he is just meant to "carry on the light", as his master had done before him, and that both of them had always been expected to "drop and hand them on."

Be careful what you wish for,

you might get it later in life.

James Joyce

Edith Wharton's "His Father's Son" by Belén Tizón

FATHER AND SON RAMBLING IN SOCIETY 

by Belén Tizón

Source for image here

"His Father’s Son" depicts Wharton’s detachment from social expectations about economic status and social constraints.

On one hand, we see a father who has no other aspiration than to increase the success of his company (“outwardly devoting his life to the manufacture and dissemination of Grew’s Secure Suspender Buckle” p. 2). On the other hand, Mr Grew exerts control over his child to prevent him from reproducing roles. His inner struggles make him dream of a son triumphing in society in all contexts.

Wharton is an author who constantly denounces the expected social status of people and how devastating it could be for a person. In this short story, Mr Grew despises his mediocrity, and social complex and remains hopeful in his heir (“Ronald in fact constituted his father’s one escape from the impenetrable element of mediocrity” p.2)

Her obstinate refusal to social constraints is also represented in the cities mentioned in the short story. While Wingfield seems to be a dull, not prosperous place (cf. description at the beginning of the novel), Brooklyn is a city close to New York, giving him the chance to have a livelier social life in theatres and also the kind of “society” the people living there constitute, a different standard (“had found their manners simpler, their voices more agreeable, their views more consonant with his own…”). 

In the relationship between father and son, we can see the conflict between tradition and change, the father urges his son’s change and celebrates any performance contrary to stagnation (“Mr G. always affirmed to himself that the boy was not a genius [..] he had managed to be several things at once-writing poetry in the college magazine, playing delightfully..”). Criticism of tradition and passivity is also transmitted through the figure of the mother, nonetheless, we can appreciate some kind of female irony judging the role of women in the American society of the time.

"The Bolted Door" by Edith Wharton

 The Abyss inside

Edith Wharton’s “The Bolted Door”

“Have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses?” (“The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Alan Poe).

Edith Wharton’s “The Bolted Door” unspins memories of other literary works: “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde, “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Alan Poe, and “Faust” by Goethe. The abyss inside and the social gestures outside of the first; madness as an acute perception of the senses in Poe’s short story, or the search for a contractual destructive bond which resonates with Goethe’s “Faust.” These might be some compelling threads to bring these works together.

Hear the chiming of the clock, the thud of the bolted door in the asylum, the throbbing of the heart, and the creaking wood, consider Hubert’s spasmodic shoulders, the old man’s eye …. the pungency of sounds entangled, mental and physical reverberate in both stories Edith Wharton’s “The Bolted Door” and Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart.”.

Let us examine the openings of Edith’s short story “The Bolted Door” and Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart”:

1.”In exactly three minutes Mr. Peter Ascham, of the eminent legal firm of Ascham and Pettilow, would have his punctual hand on the doorbell of the flat. It was a comfort to reflect that Ascham was so punctual—the suspense was beginning to make his host nervous. And the sound of the doorbell would be the beginning of the end—after that, there’d be no going back, by God—no going back! “ (“The Bolted Door” by Edith Wharton)

2.”True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad?” (“The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Alan Poe)

Both appeal to a feeling of restlessness and disquietness which has to do with the senses. Words like “Irritably, nervous, spasmodic” pepper the opening, paralleling Hubert’s nerve-wracking feelings with those of Poe’s narrator in the “Tell-Tale Heart.”

Hubert Granice’s life ennui, “his abyss inside,” his feeling of failure, and purposelessness drive him into a spiral of self-destruction and a distraught nervous system.

“It was not recovered pleasure in life that he felt, but only a deeper withdrawal into himself. It was easier to go on automatically with the social gestures than to uncover to any human eye the abyss within him”

In a frustrated attempt to perpetrate his death, he requests, in a Faustian-like way, his lawyer, Peter Ascham, to do it for him. Ascham has settled his will, as well as supervised his thespian contracts but, now, he is asked to be part of a life and death deal which he refuses and does not take seriously. The question of Hubert’s insanity starts to take shape. He claims that he has killed Joseph Lenman, his mother’s cousin, to appropriate the money that already by inheritance belongs to him. 

In the manuscript found in his drawer next to the revolver with which he tries to attempt against his life, we know of his being rejected as a playwright for lack of drama: “My dear Mr Granice….the play won’t do, it isn’t the poetry that scares her—or me either. We both want to do all we can to help along the poetic drama---….the fact is that there isn’t enough drama in your play to the allowance of poetry."

The irony is that Hubert’s own story provides the drama his play lacks, and in a nested narrative /framed story narrative technique, the script unfolds parading a series of characters that seem to impersonate different roles: from detectives, to lawyers, journalists, and doctors that play detectives. He desperately looks for endorsement that will grant his much-desired death.  Ironically, he has perpetrated the “perfect crime,” with no loose ends nor evidence that can incriminate him.

As nobody believes him, he is finally confined to an asylum in which he is constantly trying to rewrite, and reenact statements that may compromise him. There is only a faded hint at the end of an already a-missed sanity.  McCarren states: “I did it get a clue ….it wasn’t a delusion ...I tumbled on the truth by the merest accident ...I couldn’t hang the poor devil ...but I am glad when they collared him, and had him stowed away safe in here.”

At the end, he is stowed away physically in an asylum and mentally in the eternal torment of his unproven thoughts.

And the door was bolted

"The English Patient" by Michael Ondaatje

 

"The English Patient"_ Reading Club: Books Up! de Ana María Sánchez Mosquera

Underwood Typewriter, a story by Carlos Mota

A Velvet Sofa and an Underwood Typewriter

by Carlos Mota

Link to Krzystof Pelc’s Story

After reading Green Velvet, by Krzysztof Pelc, the son of an Iranian émigré, I couldn’t help but reflect on the lives of so many migrants whose dreams have been deferred—or even irreversibly devastated—by Trump’s infamous and cruel executive order to deport them. The story’s themes resonated deeply, echoing the shattered hopes of millions who have sought a better life in a country that now turns its back on them.

I was reminded of an old Underwood typewriter my brother found on the streets of Manhattan shortly after he arrived in New York from Venezuela in 1970. He cleaned it and placed it prominently in the home he and his wife purchased eight years later. Though it was in perfect working order, he never typed a word with it. Instead, it became an object of beauty, sitting on a wooden pedestal in the middle of their living room, a small but potent symbol of transformation and pride.

My brother now lives in South Carolina in a smaller home purchased with the proceeds from selling his New York property and a South Carolina apartment he once owned. I imagine the typewriter still commands its place of honor in his new living room, a quiet reminder of how far he has come.

His two sons, who were born and live in New York, exemplify the opportunities once accessible to migrants and their children. His older son holds an MBA, while the younger one, a talented artist with several exhibitions to his name, earned a PhD in psychology. Their accomplishments evince the incredible contributions migrants and their descendants can make when given the chance.

The typewriter and the velvet sofa could symbolize the promise of America: opportunities seemingly lying on the street, waiting to be claimed by those who dare to dream and work for them. Yet, for so many today, that promise has been shattered. The country that once embraced its identity as a land of opportunity has erected barriers, shutting out the very people who continue to enrich it.

This reality is not unique to the United States. Watching a woman on Spanish television express her fears about menas—unaccompanied migrant minors—I was struck by how her concerns mirrored the prejudice and exclusion present across the Atlantic. She claimed these children threatened her community and would drain local resources, an argument that has long been used to justify exclusion, both in Spain and in America.

Possibly, in the eyes of Trump, his German grandfather and his Slovenian wife bypass the concept of unacceptable foreigners, much like unaccompanied Ukrainian children in Spain manage to avert the moniker of menas and are instead welcomed, supported, and provided with opportunities to thrive, opportunities that could just as easily be extended to others, yet are denied because of prejudice.

The Underwood typewriter and my brother’s life serve as reminders of what is possible when opportunities are accessible to all. But they also underscore the tragedy of shutting the door on those who come seeking that same promise. The green velvet sofa reminded me of the lives caught in this tension—those whose potential is stifled by systems that see them as “other.”