All's Well That Ends Well

I think the hardest part of any writing endeavor will always be the ending. Say what you will about the importance of introductions, the presentation of information – the opening moments – are relatively easy. It doesn’t take much to get a reader interested. For the most part, the fact that they’ve opened the book is generally enough for at least a couple of pages. Obviously you then need to develop something, but again, as readers, we’re generally pretty easy to please.

Remember, I did say “relatively.”

If you think about it in double-entendre terms, it’s not that hard to get to some sort of climax (Note: guy writing this). It is the afterwards (the Afterward, if you will) that is so often disappointing. While the author is patting himself on the back for bringing off the plot to spectacular fruition, the reader is left thinking: are we done? It takes a great writer, like a great lover (I wasn’t sure if you were with me on my double-entendre train), to make sure all parties involved are satisfied.

What I’m presenting you was not a great lover.

In the world of literary accomplishment, it’s usually quite an honor for a British (Commonwealth) writer to be on the short-list for the Man Booker Prize. Essentially an English Pulitzer, it’s also a bit high on its own pretensions. Case in point: Mister Pip.

This is not a bad book. I want to make that clear right now. Lloyd Jones does something imaginative with the post-colonial genre, namely, re-appropriate a classic, canonical text to serve as both a plot-device and centering point for the novel. For those of you not quite on the allusion wave-length, Mister Pip is referring to Philip Pirrip, or Pip, from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.

The story is about an island somewhere in the South Pacific where the people live in what begins as peaceful semi-isolation. Although not completely disconnected (Mathilda, the young girl who is the narrator, mentions her father, like many other men, have gone to Australia to work), they are basically unconcerned about what’s going on around them. Much of that could be because of our narrator being so young, but the picture we get is a peaceful, happy community.

But then war comes. War brings an end to power, an end to packaged food, and an end to medicine. In their place, it brings the beginning of a school led by Mr. Watts, a.k.a. “Popeye,” the lone white man left on the island. Admitting that he’s not the greatest teacher, Mr. Watts does his best impression of Danny DeVito in Renaissance Man and decides to read to them. Instead of Hamlet, however, Mr. Watts reads Great Expectations.

This is the clever part. This is where the allusions and juxtapositions take place, just as the misinterpretations and word-play (as he tries to explain difficult words to the children who have no context for the world of Pip) come alive. This is the post-colonial moment at its best, where West meets Other, and a new world comes alive.

Yet, it’s also a forced moment, especially as it gets carried out as you move along in the story. When the redskins come and demand to meet Mr. Pip, it seems preposterous that they couldn’t explain the situation even without the aid of the book as proof. It seems equally odd that, with the information, the redskins – with their clearly superior technology – could easily find out about Charles Dickens if they were really so concerned. Perhaps we’re supposed to assume the cruelty of the redskins (and, I have to admit, I’m lost as to who Jones is referring to here), but I think that’s assuming a great deal on his part. The motivations that lead up to the problems are not very believable.

But even with all that, it’s still not a bad novel. Like so many teaching stories, the best moments are the interactions between the students and the teacher. It is only after the violence, the supposed climax, that the reader is left questioning what the deal is with this book. For if the climax was abrupt, then what follows is practically lethargic. After the violence (which isn’t graphic, and therefore not exactly shocking), I just have no more “me” to give except that I know there’s only a few more pages, so I might as well finish. That’s not what I would consider a great recommendation.

Too many things happen that don’t help resolve the climax. The flood – it’s either too symbolic or too cheesy; I can’t decide. Mathilda going to visit Mr. Watts’ home in Wellington – accomplishes little by means of explanation. The reunion with her father is probably designed to be anti-climactic, but it feels even less important when on top of everything else. The one thing that maybe works is that Mathilda feels the compulsion to make her life’s work Dickens. After the connection she makes with the book and the impact it had on her life up to her escape, this makes sense.

I just had stopped caring at that point.

Because, the story wasn’t about Mathilda. It was the story of the island, and, to a lesser degree, Mr. Watts. Mathilda was the narrator and the focalizer, but she wasn’t the protagonist. Not until the very end, after all the other protagonists were left to the wayside, does she become the most important person in the book. Maybe that’s something neat or interesting to do with a novel, but I have to say it leaves me unsatisfied because Jones ends up concluding a story that isn’t the same one that we read.

If you have to choose a book to read, stick with the inspiration, and leave Mister Pip to win its award.

That’s an ending we can all be happy with.