An eerie simplicity
is woven throughout We Have Always Lived
In The Castle. When the reader is first introduced to Merricat, the
character gives off a very childlike, almost innocent air. She states
everything with great matter-of-factness, as if all her observations are
self-evident, or all her thoughts and opinions are completely justified. Yet
the simplicity extends beyond Merricat’s narration. Her household, with
Constance and Uncle Julian, functions in a very ordered, simple, and completely
unfettered manner. Merricat, her sister, and the Blackwood household exist in a
sphere separate from the real world, shunning authority and conventional
institutions thereof. Merricat’s family is mostly dead, authority has no place within
the Blackwood property, and even formal religion is absent, its place filled by
a childish faith in magic.
No conventional standards exist for
Merricat or her sister Constance. The pair exists in a twilight state of
routine, and the idea of family does not exist in its traditional sense. The
Blackwoods are stable, certainly, but almost impossibly so, and the only
driving force they have is their strong sisterly love and peculiar confidence
in a static lifestyle. Uncle Julian is not so much a part of the family as he
is a piece of the routine that holds Merricat and Constance to some sort of
structure. Yet when the fire disrupts the Blackwoods towards the end of the
book, the “family” is desecrated even further. The sisters are tested
immensely, yet they face their fate with an unreal amount of optimism and
juvenile simplicity. Constance begins to lament over the loss of shelter,
clothing, and food the girls are up against. The Blackwoods appear so far gone
that Merricat is “dressed in a tablecloth like a ragdoll (Jackson 200).”
Merricat quiets Constance’s fears, embracing the destruction of standards which
the two have suffered. She speaks flatly that “We are going to be very happy,
Constance (Jackson 200.”
The annihilation of the Blackwood
family, and a family structure in general, is accented by Merricat’s youthful
fancies. As after the fire, she possesses an outlook that contradicts her
circumstance. Her perfect world “on the moon” is a perfect metaphor for the Merricat’s
simple optimism. From the very start of
the novel, Merricat preaches how “On the moon we have everything… All the locks
are solid and tight… and the sun would shine all the time (Jackson 108).”
Growing up without a true family after the night of murder, Merricat has never
lost her childish tendencies. In many ways, her fantastical dreams give her strength,
but mostly they act as goggles, warping her perception of life. After the fire,
at the zeroth-level of existence for the Blackwoods, Merricat is practically at
her most happy. With the family dead, living solely with Constance, Merricat
says “I am thinking that we are on the moon, but it is not quite as I supposed
it would be (Jackson 195).” Granted, she has not obtained the true euphoric
state of her moon-kingdom, but murdered relatives and a half-burned house is
the closest she has gotten. The notion that Merricat enjoys her situation represents the postmodern emphasis on the
death of family.
But beyond family, other forms of authority
figures are presented in fairly negative light. Jim Donell solidifies the
distrustful nature of authorities. In the great fire scene, after the
firefighters quenched the flames, a sizeable mob has gathered outside the
Blackwood house. Donell appears from the smoke, and “everyone knew him because
of his size and his hat saying CHIEF
(Jackson 155).” In this scene, Donell is clearly the authority, the most
looked-to figure for the villagers. Of course, he sets an example. Before the
mob, he picks up a rock, and “in complete silence he turned slowly and raised
his arm and smashed the rock through one of the great tall windows of our
mother’s drawing room (Jackson 154).” After this, the crowd goes rampant and
destroys all that Merricat and her sister cherish. Authority is equivocated to
evil in one swift motion.
Charles helps to portray a rejection
and general mistrust of authority, as well. From his very entrance into the
novel, Merricat despises him. Merricat may be viewed as the antithesis of
family and traditional norms, so a dichotomy is quickly established.
Subsequently, Merricat tries everything in her ability to rid Charles from the
house. While generally disagreeable as a stranger, Merricat also dislikes his
decidedly “adult” and authoritarian perceptions. For instance, a point arrives
in the book when Charles finds Merricat’s silver dollars buried by the creek.
“This is outrageous,” Charles shouts, but Constance simply replies with, “She
likes to bury things (Jackson 128).” The Blackwood sisters have a hard time
understanding why Charles is so caught up on the concerns of wealth, a fact
with only stoke Merricat’s hatred of him. Tormenting Charles “was a joyful
sight, to see the first twistings and turnings of the demon caught (Jackson
137).” Without a doubt, Charles is rejected by the Blackwoods, and his
rejection serves as symbolic rejection of authority by the sisters.
In rejecting anything and everything
that society has established as traditional, Merricat casts away religion and
seizes upon a primitive faith in magic. Moments throughout Jackson’s novel are
pocketed with allusions to power, sorcery, and artifacts that allow Merricat to
shape and interact with her surroundings. Childish and fantastic, Merricat
depends upon her magic for protection and warnings (a void left by destruction
of her family, and the absence of authority). Merricat very simplistically
believes that the Blackwood gate will protect the property, since “on the gate
was a sign saying PRIVATE NO TRESPASSING
and no one could go past that (Jackson 25).” Words possess a special
significance for Merricat, as do random objects. She frequently arranges her
material goods in peculiar fashions, calling them her “safeguards.” These
objects include “the box of silver dollars I had buried by the creek, and the
doll buried in the long field, and the book nailed to the tree in the pine
woods (Jackson 59).” Forget God, or the Quran, or temples. Merricat has all the
power she needs in rocks and letters and her cat, Jonas.
Jackson’s novel conveys a great
number of elements of postmodern fiction, and they all come out notably by way
of Merricat. After all, the murder of the Blackwood family was by Merricat’s
own hand. Merricat despises Charles, the central figure of authority in the
narrative, and succeeds in driving him away. In a twisted sort of merriment,
Merricat even seizes upon Constance’s and her own situation of a burned and
broken house. And throughout all the experiences, Merricat maintains a staunch
belief in youthful magic and is practically a pagan animist. The character of
Merricat is a veritable personification of postmodern fiction in modern
America.
Works Cited
Jackson, Shirley. We
Have Always Lived In The Castle. New York: Penguin Group, 1984. Print.
Josh, you are a fantastic man with a great taste in music. I would like to say that I enjoyed your comments involving Merricat's magic, and how it rejects conventional thinking. The way that she relies on them as safeguards was something that stuck with me as I read the novel, coinciding with the simplistic way that Jackson wrote the novel. My only qualm with your post is that I wish you would have mentioned how Jonas fit into the situation, and how he relates to her reliance on magic. Overall, however, you are a man of great power, and a mighty chieftain who I believe will unite the land one day.
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