I'm struggling with Sylvie and Ruth's philosophy about what it means to have a meaningful relationship with someone.
I keep thinking about that part where Ruth describes watching a woman in a train travel by and questioning how that interaction was different than knowing a person. The conclusion Ruth seemed to come to (much through Sylvie's influence I presume) was that she didn't know that woman any less or more than anyone else in her life. This reminded me of the way Sylvie talks about people she meets once in a boxcar and never sees again. Sylvie doesn't say "I met a person," she says
"I knew a person," implying that "meeting" and "knowing" are indistinguishable in her world. Sylvie does not maintain long-term relationships with anyone except Ruth, who also adopts this transient lifestyle. Both Sylvie and Ruth revel in a solitude I imagine most readers struggle to comprehend, as it seems too rebellious, too isolated from the societal sphere to even consider trying out.
"I knew a person," implying that "meeting" and "knowing" are indistinguishable in her world. Sylvie does not maintain long-term relationships with anyone except Ruth, who also adopts this transient lifestyle. Both Sylvie and Ruth revel in a solitude I imagine most readers struggle to comprehend, as it seems too rebellious, too isolated from the societal sphere to even consider trying out.
I'm doing my best to have an open mind about what it means to have a fulfilling life. That being said, Sylvie and Ruth's preference for detachment is so unlike human nature that I can't help but wonder if it's a coping mechanism of some sort. Both women have suffered grave losses in their family, the most recent being Lucille's rejection and departure. Perhaps Sylvie believes that she's protecting herself by cutting ties before she gets emotionally invested in a relationship, for fear of getting hurt again.
Relationships are also tied to specific places and times in one's life, and therefore contradict the philosophy of transience that defines Sylvie's existence. If she pursued a connection with someone, she'd have a social responsibility to visit them and keep in touch with them, and Sylvie doesn't seem like the kind of person to take any kind of responsibility seriously.
On one level, I want to dig deeper into the reasons for Sylvie's attachment to detachment, if you will. On the other hand, I feel as if it is really none of my business. If Sylvie's not hurting herself or anyone else, she should be allowed to live however she pleases without scrutiny.
I agree, it's not really any of our business. But I do think that both Sylvie and Ruth have been abandoned by enough people to just simply imagine what we call "knowing" as a sort of phony and over-hyped way ot thinking about people. Based on their experience, can they say they really know anyone? People, even when you are close to them (which is different), are still only there for a bit, which really is more like "meeting". Meeting involves knowing, but without the connotation of an unrealistic expectation that comes with knowing.
ReplyDeleteSylvie's transient relationships are certainly difficult for most of us to get our heads around. It's maybe fun and interesting to meet all kinds of eccentric people who have stories to tell, but most of us would distinguish such fleeting interactions from real "friendships," or instances where we "know" someone else. The daughters' sudden severing of ties with their mother might seem cruel and callous, and we might be inclined to pass judgment on Sylvie's *capacity* for love or friendship or commitment. I see what you're getting at when you ask who we are to judge, but in this novel, there is an urgency to the question of Sylvie's ability to cultivate a committed long-term relationship (her "marriage" is a total parody of the very idea). This urgency has to do with Ruth: how committed is Sylvie to Ruth by the end of the novel? Do we see them running away *together*, or is Sylvie running away and Ruth just comes with her? Ruth herself worries about this, and often feels like Sylvie wouldn't care one way or the other if she were there or not. But the extraordinary effort Sylvie puts into first trying to save the household and the family, and then executing this crazy plan to burn down the house and live off the grid suggests--to Ruth's surprise--that Sylvie cares more than Ruth has realized she does. The last words of the novel are "me and Sylvie," and we have every indication that the two of them have stayed together in this very unconventional domestic arrangement. We have to assume that Sylvie has developed a real and enduring connection to Ruth, solidified in their death-defying crossing of the bridge together.
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