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47 pages 1 hour read

John Banville

The Sea

John BanvilleFiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2005

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Symbols & Motifs

The Sea

The sea is the central symbol of Banville’s text, highlighted by the novel’s name. In a narrative concerned with both sexual awakening and the experience of death, the sea symbolizes the vast, immutable power of life’s natural forces. The sea is connected both to the overwhelming animal urges that affect the various characters and to the inevitability of death. It is a timeless constant and also a traditional symbol of the passage of time. The cyclical nature of the tides marks the ebb and flow of memory and is emblematic of the ways in which these oppose the linear trajectory of chronological time. The shifting sea is also symbolic of the changeability of memory, perception, and identity. In its association with oblivion, the sea at once attracts and repels the narrator: As the natural force that swallowed up Chloe and Myles, Max finds it both a frightening emblem of death and the physical locus of their existence in memory. In the opening lines of the novel, Max repeatedly pulls back from the sea that consumed his childhood companions (“I would not swim, no, not ever again” [4]), but at the end of Part 1, he feels himself being drawn irresistibly toward it (“I hear your siren’s song. I am there, almost there” [132]). At the novel’s close, the image of the sea is again used to reference Max’s sense of loss and self-doubt and the fleeting nature of human experience.

Art

Visual art is a recurrent motif in the book, used to explore ideas of identity and self-expression. It is continually referenced through Max’s allusions to it: Visual art is the basis of his professional career and one of the major ways through which he understands and analyzes the world. His numerous references to artists, including Bonnard, Botticelli, Tiepolo, Gerricault, and De la Tour, underpin the narrative. Max’s reflections on Bonnard’s multiple depictions of his wife, Marthe, invite comparison with Max’s mental portraits of Connie, Chloe, and Anna and explore the ways in which men think about women. Bonnard’s concern with catching transient, intimate moments and fleeting movements of light reflects Max’s desire to capture a fleeting but profoundly important moment in his own life. It is also a way to retrospectively order and give meaning to his memories. For example, as he observes Connie Grace observing flowers in the kitchen, time is momentarily suspended and the scene is preserved at his will, with a ray of sunlight conveniently falling down to illuminate the tableau. In his memory, the scene is abruptly interrupted by the family racing in after a small dog, but he doubts the veracity of this memory since he has no idea who owned the dog or where it came from. The impression is ultimately one of active aesthetic composition rather than passive recollection. Max mentally arranges Rose and the Graces into the famous tableau of Botticelli’s Primavera, as if trying to make sense of his memories by ordering them as portrait subjects. Max’s critical gaze seeks to objectify and control the individuals he looks upon.

There is a degree of regret in the fact that Max is an art historian rather than an artist: He studies the art of others rather than creating art himself. Max seems to feel threatened by and jealous of his wife’s active photography career. When he looks back on their relationship, he is retrospectively ashamed that he did not take her artistic ambitions more seriously. His rather narcissistic vision is threatened by her contrasting worldview, and her creations, even or especially of him, are outside his control. The graphic photos that Anna takes of fellow patients’ bodies during her final illness disturb and alienate Max. They reflect an experience of impending death that excludes him because he cannot yet fully relate to or understand it. They are also a vivid reminder of physical reality and mortality of the human body.

The Gods and the Graces

Throughout the novel, Max refers to the Grace family as “the Gods” and “the Graces,” associating them with figures from Greek mythology explicitly in his own narrative: They are the pantheon of Classical gods and the Greek gratiae (graces) female figures who personified the gifts bestowed on humankind by the gods. The mythological symbolism Max attaches to the characters of his narrative also reflects his desire to order his experience, as these mythological figures belong to the fixed past and form part of traditional, obtainable knowledge. Max’s metaphorical elevation also reflects their distance from him and stems in part from their superior social class. The Greek gods were indifferent to the human condition, using humans as pawns in the pantheon’s internal powerplays. Similarly, the graces represent “high ideals” associated with the educated and leisured classes: beauty, grace, and charm, captured in the high art and literature of Western culture.

The image of Chloe, Connie, and Rose playing together near the end of Part 1 is clearly an allusion to Botticelli's Primavera (a work depicting goddesses and graces) and highlights the subjectivity of the scene in Max’s memory. The symbolical framework within which Max seeks to pin down the Grace family proves to be unstable and unreliable. Carlo Grace is sometimes a satyr (“old grinning goat god” [125]), due to the overbearing male sexuality that Max senses in his presence, and is called Poseidon, god of the sea. This latter identification will be cruelly undermined by Carlo’s loss of his own children to the sea at the end of the novel.

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