We Have Always Lived ...

The Close Read Series takes a look inside fiction at elements used particularly well (or not-so-well).

There is a two-page stretch in the book We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson near the end, after the townsfolk ravaged the house and Uncle Julian is dead, that uses repetition to strong effect.
 

Today the house ended above the kitchen doorway in a nightmare of black and twisted wood; I saw part of a window frame still holding broken glass and I thought: that was my window; I looked out that window from my room. (p.113)
 
This passage is at the the beginning of what is going to be a lengthy list and description of things that were destroyed by the townsfolk, and starts at a broad level of description (a nightmare of black and twisted wood that ends without a roof, making it in effect a castle) before moving to the specific thought of Merricat as she recognizes what used to be her room and used to be her window.  On first read, it is strong and clean language.  With further reading, once the feminist overtones of the novel are understood, it allows interpretation of a larger, social type.

 Two of the chairs had been smashed, and the floor was horrible with broken dishes and glasses and broken boxes of food and paper torn from the shelves.  Jars of jam and syrup and catsup had been shattered against the walls. (p.114)
  
 As Jackson gets more specific in her description, she also narrows the focus around the feminist themes of the novel.  We as the reader moved from the higher-elevation view in the first passage to select items, and not just select items but jars of jam and syrup and catsup that Constance and Merricat themselves worked to pick as natural ingredients, cook and then turn into food stores. 

The sink where Constance washed her dishes was filled with broken glass, as though glass after glass had been broken there methodically, one after another. (p.114)

These words follow directly from the words above as part of an almost page-long list of things broken by intruders, specifically men.  These men from town hate Constance and Merricat for reasons not spoken but understood.  Constance was tried for poisoning and killing the men of the house and found innocent; Merricat (as we find out in the text) was the one who actually poisoned them.  Whether the men of town hate them for what they’ve done or simply because they are the female caretakers of a lavish property with lots of money is left to the reader to decide, though it could also be both.  For the first time in this list of ruin, we get a specific name (Constance) and a specific overture to her actions.  In an area Constance performed acts of caring for members of the house we now see deliberate vandalism and destruction.

Drawers of silverware and cooking ware had been pulled out and broken against the table and the walls, and silverware that had been in the house for generations of Blackwood wives was lying bent and scattered on the floor. (p.114)

This text, again a direct continuation of the lines above it, continues the unrelenting survey of destruction wrought by male intruders.  It also lays out the feminist theme more in plain view, for the book has already told us that six years ago the house had both men and women in it, before the poisoning.  That the silverware was around for generations of Blackwood ‘wives’ serves as both a strengthening of feminist them while also serving as commentary on male/female roles and stereotypes.

Tablecloths and napkins hemmed by Blackwood women, washed and ironed again and again, mended and cherished, had been ripped from the dining-room sideboard and dragged across the kitchen. (p.114)

The repetition continues of things ruined, why by now is exhausting to readers (at least it was to me) but serves to hammer home the point: women in this story had things stripped from them by a male society, just as women in real life have things stripped from them by a male society.  Again the commentary on roles exists and again the Blackwood women are referred to by name, specifically in this case around items cared for in many ways.
 
Then she [Constance] said “The preserves,” and turned to the cellar door; it was closed and I hoped that perhaps they had not seen it, or had perhaps not had time to go down the stairs…. “No, it’s all right; nothing here’s been touched.” (p.115)

With the extensive list completed, Jackson serves another bit of commentary on something the looters (men) missed – the preserves in the basement.  Of interest here is what I perceive to be a stab at the male society in this text (and therefore society at large), as they ignored the preserves in looting the house, but those preserves become a key staple for Merricat and Constance in the years that follow as they continue living in the house.  In addition, the same preserves overlooked by looters were also overlooked by male members of the Blackwood family on the evening they ate poisoned preserves and died.

 We had to walk carefully because of the broken things on the floor.  Our father’s safe lay just inside the drawing-room door, and I laughed and even Constance smiled, because it had not been opened and it had clearly not been possible to carry it any farther than this. (p.119)

This passage comes a few pages after the list used for effect by Jackson, but serves as more commentary on the male figures in the story (and society for larger purposes), as it underscores the failure of Cousin Charles.  Charles, the arsonist behind the initial fire in the house, used it as an attempt to get the safe out of the house and therefore steal the family fortune.  That he failed in his job serves as a point of humor to Constance and Merricat and another reminder of male futility and destructiveness in the book.
 

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