Maybe I am just sensitive to it now, having digested Lisa Zunshine’s book (Why We Read Fiction: Theory of Mind and the Novel) and Alan Palmer’s recent paper (“Social Minds“), but I am very aware of the way our narrator “reads” the manifestations of character and motivations and thoughts in the facial expressions and mannerisms of Mr Norris. This behavior (of social animals?) is something that is garnering a lot of attention in the world of Narrative Studies; you’d think it was something no one had ever noticed before. Interestingly, the first time I encountered what is now called Theory of Mind (that is, our sense of the action of the minds of others as we engage with them) by cognitivists was in the work of the British Psychologist R. D. Laing, notably in his book The Politics of Experience.
Consider the following:
Even now, he didn’t answer at once. He appeared to be engaged in some sort of rapid mental calculation, while his fingers, nervously active, sketched a number of flurried gestures round his waistcoat. For all they conveyed, he might equally have been going to undress, to draw a revolver, or merely make sure that I hadn’t stolen his money. Then the moment of agitation passed from his gaze like a little cloud, leaving a clear blue sky. At last he had understood what it was that I wanted . . . ” (1)
Here we have the narrator clearly attempting to “read” the mind of his “fellow traveler” (which phrase might take on further meaning later in the text). But there is some hesitancy, some uncertainty, as shown by the alternatives he offers as to the meaning of the nervous dance of Norris’ fingers. But later in the same chapter:
The cigarettes were both lighted now. We sat back in our respective places. The stranger was still doubtful of me. He was wondering whether he hadn’t gone too far, delivered himself to a bore or a crook. His timid soul was eager to retire.” (2)
Our narrator is more certain of his ability to read Norris. He explicitly assigns meanings to facial expressions, mannerisms, tonalities of voice. We all do it . . . all of the time. It is one of many mechanisms by which we get by in the world outside of our skin. The question is: how accurate is his reading? Does Norris really have a timid soul? I am sure we will find out before we see The Last of Mr. Norris.
2 Comments
There is something comforting about a novel concise enough that, like The Bridge of San Luis Rey, it is no great torment to re-read the first chapter. The age of the book is suggested in the use of the word “frontier” and we have yet to learn why Mr Norris is bothered more by the checking of his passport than he is to convey himself successfully through customs.
I like the notion of equivalence between undressing, threat by weapon, and theft. There is a telling in that. Oh, and it has real chapters. After At Swim-Two-Birds I have found that I like chapters very much.
You wonder about Mr Norris; I wonder about our narrator who seems so drawn to Mr Norris. Yes, no doubt we will find out about that.
Have you wondered what Isherwood was up to in The Last of Mr Norris? The story seems more about Bradshaw than Norris. The characters are interesting and colorful but few are very likable. It has an ending practically dictated by Hollywood: to punish a morally questionable character by having another dog him wherever he goes.
Reading the book from a historical perspective is quite interesting. I am surprised Isherwood didn’t end up on the HCUA’s red list because it certainly seems that TLoMN is at least partially autobiographical.