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29 pages 58 minutes read

John Galsworthy

The Japanese Quince

John GalsworthyFiction | Short Story | Adult | Published in 1910

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Themes

Social Separation and Alienation

Nilson is introduced in the opening sentence within the context of social relationships and reputation: he is “well known in the City” (Paragraph 1). This first impression suggests (though wrongly, as it turns out) that he is a social being with easy and frequent interactions with others. In reality, Nilson is ill at ease in human company and constantly doubts what he says and does, worrying about how he appears and whether he is conforming to social conventions. He seems most content when by himself. He moves through his dressing room and downstairs to his dining room without encountering another soul. As he steps outdoors, he thinks about the pleasure of being by himself on that fresh spring morning and enjoying the natural world as a personal possession.

The theme of Social Separation and Alienation intensifies when Nilson recognizes Tandram standing next to him. He is taken aback, feeling that his private sanctuary has been violated. Immediately, the narrator says, he “ceased to smile, and looked furtively at the stranger” (Paragraph 6). Given the third-person limited narration, the reader can infer that the term “stranger” reflects Nilson’s judgment: he feels “estranged” from this man, even though he turns out to be his neighbor. These men have lived side by side for five years, the reader learns, but they had never socialized or even greeted one another. The opening exchanges between them are described as “awkward” and “nervous.” Curiously, Nilson is described as “feeling that he had been caught out” (Paragraph 6)—that is, exposed—though what he is afraid of revealing is never clarified.

For a moment, the wall between them begins to come down under the strange influence of the tree. Nilson stands at the threshold of a revelation about himself and his life; as though sensing this, “the blackbird gave a loud, clear call” (Paragraph 19), perhaps inviting him to take that risk and be restored to wholeness and authenticity. The risk is too great, however, and Nilson pulls back from the edge. The scene changes as he looks through the old filters once again, seeing Tandram as “foolish.” Simultaneously, “[a] shade passed over Mr. Tandram’s face” (Paragraph 20), signifying that a veil of separation is once again descending. All that remains is for the two men to separate and return to their houses.

When Nilson abruptly ends the conversation and states, “I must be going in” (Paragraph 19), he is really saying “I must retreat back into myself”—back into his shell and isolation. When he enters his house at the end of the story, the door closes behind him, cutting him off from the promise of the garden and meaningful interaction with others.

Emotional Repression and Inhibition

The neutral tone of the narration contributes to the sense of repressed emotions. The narrator does provide access to Nilson’s thoughts and feelings, but there is little complexity to be found there as the workings of his mind are highly conventional. When Nilson is puzzled by what he feels, he makes only a cursory effort to understand himself. The range of Nilson’s emotions is limited and circumscribed by what is considered proper and acceptable. The narrator does grant him the indulgence of an exclamation point—the only concession to a heightened emotional response—when Nilson thinks “Perfect morning!” and “spring at last!” (Paragraph 1). Even so, these are generic thoughts of the kind he would later exchange with Tandram.

One distinctive feature of Nilson’s (and Tandram’s) emotions is how highly regulated and qualified they are. Nilson looks at Tandram and thinks to himself “I rather like him” (Paragraph 18, italics added). Similarly, Tandram looks at Nilson “in an almost friendly way” (Paragraph 17, italics added). It is as though each man fears over-extending himself and becoming vulnerable and exposed. When Nilson suddenly feels awkward and foolish, he drops his eyes and quickly retreats into himself.

The theme of emotional repression is most pronounced in the contrast between Nilson and both the tree and the blackbird. The tree is spontaneous and responsive to its environment, opening its blossoms and welcoming the blackbird into its branches. It “quivers” and “glows” for the men “as if appreciating their attention” (Paragraph 19). The blackbird, too, is uninhibited in “chanting out his heart” (Paragraph 23). This openness stands in contrast to the cramped and guarded dialogue of the men. Nilson constantly filters his speech through social propriety, second-guessing himself and feeling, the narrator says, “[d]oubtful as to his proper conduct” (Paragraph 6). As Nilson’s double, Tandram also has “a slight nervousness” in his voice (Paragraph 6); the men do not look each other in the eye at first, and it is only reluctantly that Nilson gains the courage “to regard him openly” (Paragraph 6).

The theme of repression and inhibition works in concert with the theme of Social Separation and Alienation. The former is the internal reality of Nilson’s life, while the latter is its outward manifestation. The story is bookended with scenes at a window. In the opening paragraph, Nilson looks out his French window at the Japanese quince in the garden and sees what is possible; in the penultimate paragraph, Tandram looks out his French window at the tree and sees what might have been. Though it seems at first that little happens in the story, a great distance has been covered between what is possible and what might have been. The turning point between these options is the moment in front of the tree when both men succumb to their deeply entrenched fears.

Materialism and Nature

Many scholars see a contrast between the urban, human-made setting of the houses and the natural landscape of the garden. The reality is more complicated, however, as nothing in the story is natural except the blackbird. The garden is planned and symmetrical; in a word, they are “unnatural.” Moreover, the Japanese quince is not indigenous but is an “exotic,” imported ornamental tree that has been cultivated. Everything about the garden is artificial. The Kensington district, in which the Campden Hill neighborhood is located, was once a rural village before it was absorbed into London in the mid-19th century.

Instead of a rigid dichotomy marked by a sharp contrast between the natural and human-made, Galsworthy depicts how the materialism of Edwardian culture—and the wealth produced by Britain’s imperial expansion—overwhelms the natural order of things, transforming both the external landscape and the internal landscape of the human heart. The luxury items that are tokens of social class (e.g., the ivory-backed hand-glass) are made possible through colonial conquest. Similarly, Nilson’s preoccupation with the price of Tintos (which is an apparent reference to stock in a mining company), implies a backstory—creating wealth by extracting the Earth’s resources.

The theme of materialism is introduced in the opening sentence when Nilson’s association with “the City” is mentioned. The fact that “City” is capitalized means that this does not refer to the entirety of London, but rather to the small designated area—one square mile, known as the “City of London”—that is the historic financial and ceremonial center. The City is known as London’s equivalent to Wall Street in New York. The London Stock Exchange, for example, is located there.

Naming and Classifying as a Way of Knowing

The opening sentence establishes the theme that naming is knowing, thus creating a framework for understanding Nilson’s world: “As Mr. Nilson, well known in the City, opened the window of his dressing-room on Campden Hill, he experienced a peculiar sweetish sensation in the back of his throat, and a feeling of emptiness just under his fifth rib” (Paragraph 1). The first half of the sentence is highly particular, grounding the story in proper nouns—things that are known—such as Nilson, the City, and Campden Hill. By contrast, the second half of the sentence veers into unspecific unknowns, the sensation in the back of his throat and the feeling of emptiness” (Paragraph 1). This unknown sensation remains unnamed throughout the story. Nilson will try to classify the “queer feeling” and thereby understand it, as he wonders if it might be indigestion or an allergy, but he cannot name it.

Nilson’s first thought in the story is generic: “‘Perfect morning,’ he thought; ‘spring at last!’” (Paragraph 1), which contrasts with the highly specific descriptions that the narrator provides. Whether it is because of his gnawing discomfort or his delight in natural beauty, Nilson is unable to name what he feels.

This theme of naming recurs later when he asks Tandram about the tree. After running out of things to say about the weather, Nilson furthers the conversation by asking, “Er—can you give me the name of that tree?” (Paragraph 7). Tandram admits that he was about to ask the same question. The men do not relate to the tree aesthetically, apart from some obvious comments about the beautiful blossoms. Rather, they relate to the tree, as to everything in the world, in a clinical way, seeking to classify its place within the botanical world. The plaque provides the answer: Japanese quince. The knowledge provided by a simple name on a plaque allows them to know and understand the tree—or at least to think that they do. Nilson notes that the tree flowers early and does not bear fruit. These qualities are true of all Japanese quince trees as a class with no regard to the individual characteristics of the tree before them. Similarly, the men identify the blackbird as the source of the song they hear, which leads them not to talk about the specific blackbird in the tree, but rather about blackbirds as a class. Tandram, in particular, says that he prefers blackbirds to thrushes, as they have “more body in the note” (Paragraph 17). Given the importance of naming and classifying to make sense of the world, Nilson’s position at the end of the story is quite bleak. Unable to process the meaning of what he has experienced, he becomes “unaccountably upset,” enters his house, and opens his paper.

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