Chapters 18-24: Timshel
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Chapters 18-24: Timshel
In this section the story takes two directions, one following Adam and the other Kate. We see the depths of Kate's wickedness more fully revealed. Abandoning her two, newborn sons and shooting the husband for whom she is the center of everything is about as low as she can get. The premeditation, manipulation, and unwavering patience and devotion she has in this section, however, reveals aspects of her we have not yet seen in this way. On the other side, we see what Kate's abandonment does to Adam. The confrontation in chapter 22 always causes me to tear up.
Adam stood panting. He felt his throat where the blacksmith's hands had been. “What is it you want of me?”
“You have no love.”
“I had—enough to kill me.”
“No one ever had enough. The stone orchard celebrates too little, not too much.”
“Stay away from me. I can fight back. Don’t think I can’t defend myself.”
“You have two weapons, and they not named.”
“I’ll fight you, old man. You are an old man.”
Samuel said, “I can’t think in my mind of a dull man picking up a rock, who before evening would not put a name to it—like Peter. And you—for a year you’ve lived with your heart’s draining and you’ve not even laid a number to the boys.”
Adam said, “What I do is my own business.”
Samuel struck him with a work-heavy fist, and Adam sprawled out in the dust. Samuel asked him to rise, and when Adam accepted struck him again, and this time Adam did not get up. He looked stonily at the menacing old man.
The fire went out of Samuel’s eyes and he said quietly, “Your sons have no names.”
Adam replied, “Their mother left them motherless.”
“And you have left them fatherless. Can’t you feel the cold at night of a lone child? What warm is there, what bird song, what possible morning can be good? Don’t you remember, Adam, how it was, even a little?”
“I didn’t do it,” Adam said.
“Have you undone it? Your boys have no names.”
I'm focusing these questions on Adam's story but I think there are just as many things to explore in Kate's.
The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is. Maybe there would be fewer crazy people. I am sure in myself there would not be many jails. It is all there—the start, the beginning. One child, refused the love he craves, kicks the cat and hides his secret guilt; and another steals so that money will make him loved; and a third conquers the world—and always the guilt and revenge and more guilt.
Una’s death struck Samuel like a silent earthquake. He said no brave and reassuring words, he simply sat alone and rocked himself.
He felt that it was his neglect had done it. And now his tissue, which had fought joyously against time, gave up a little. His young skin turned old, his clear eyes dulled, and a little stoop came to his great shoulders. Liza with her acceptance could take care of tragedy; she had no real hope this side of Heaven. But Samuel had put up a laughing wall against natural laws, and Una’s death breached
his battlements. He became an old man.
Adam stood panting. He felt his throat where the blacksmith's hands had been. “What is it you want of me?”
“You have no love.”
“I had—enough to kill me.”
“No one ever had enough. The stone orchard celebrates too little, not too much.”
“Stay away from me. I can fight back. Don’t think I can’t defend myself.”
“You have two weapons, and they not named.”
“I’ll fight you, old man. You are an old man.”
Samuel said, “I can’t think in my mind of a dull man picking up a rock, who before evening would not put a name to it—like Peter. And you—for a year you’ve lived with your heart’s draining and you’ve not even laid a number to the boys.”
Adam said, “What I do is my own business.”
Samuel struck him with a work-heavy fist, and Adam sprawled out in the dust. Samuel asked him to rise, and when Adam accepted struck him again, and this time Adam did not get up. He looked stonily at the menacing old man.
The fire went out of Samuel’s eyes and he said quietly, “Your sons have no names.”
Adam replied, “Their mother left them motherless.”
“And you have left them fatherless. Can’t you feel the cold at night of a lone child? What warm is there, what bird song, what possible morning can be good? Don’t you remember, Adam, how it was, even a little?”
“I didn’t do it,” Adam said.
“Have you undone it? Your boys have no names.”
I'm focusing these questions on Adam's story but I think there are just as many things to explore in Kate's.
- Why does Adam respond to Kate's actions in the way he does? Dig deep. Don't settle for an immediate answer. Why? Why? Why?
- Why is it the fact that the twins have not been named that sets Samuel and Liza off?
The greatest terror a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears. I think everyone in the world to a large or small extent has felt rejection. And with rejection comes anger, and with anger some kind of crime in revenge for the rejection, and with the crime guilt—and there is the story of mankind. I think that if rejection could be amputated, the human would not be what he is. Maybe there would be fewer crazy people. I am sure in myself there would not be many jails. It is all there—the start, the beginning. One child, refused the love he craves, kicks the cat and hides his secret guilt; and another steals so that money will make him loved; and a third conquers the world—and always the guilt and revenge and more guilt.
- When Lee says that the story of Cain and Abel is the story of us all, Adam says, “'I didn’t kill my brother—,'” but, "suddenly he stopped and his mind went reeling back in time." What does he remember? Can we compare the story of Cain and Abel to the story of Adam and Charles? What does this say about their relationship with the father? about the effect of their father on who they are?
Una’s death struck Samuel like a silent earthquake. He said no brave and reassuring words, he simply sat alone and rocked himself.
He felt that it was his neglect had done it. And now his tissue, which had fought joyously against time, gave up a little. His young skin turned old, his clear eyes dulled, and a little stoop came to his great shoulders. Liza with her acceptance could take care of tragedy; she had no real hope this side of Heaven. But Samuel had put up a laughing wall against natural laws, and Una’s death breached
his battlements. He became an old man.
- Is this "laughing wall" the difference between Samuel and Tom? The narrator often compares them. Samuel seems to be a deep thinker but doesn't like to get his feet too wet. Think of his playful frustration toward Lee in the conversation at the end of chapter 22. Tom seems to get in over his head too often. What is this "laughing wall against natural laws" and why does he have it? Did he construct it or was it always there?
- What is the significance to this story so far of the word timshel translated "thou mayest" instead of "thou shalt"? Think of Adam, Charles, Kate, Samuel, Lee. Think of this especially as you get to know Aron and Cal better.
Re: Chapters 18-24: Timshel
Wow this reminds me of the arguments we had on the Socratic dialogues about whether you can do something you don't think is good. There definitely seems to be a lot in here about why we do what we do and whether it is possible to overcome our character deficiencies.
JordanRaum- Posts : 1
Join date : 2017-06-27
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