whiteginger wrote:
Week Three
Bereft
Quinn tells his mother about the years since he left, but he still refuses to tell her who killed Sarah. This is Quinn’s one truly heroic act in the book. Quinn weighs the benefit (he lessens his own pain) and the harm (he destroys his already weakened mother) of his revealing the truth and chooses the best for his mother over the best for himself. I could probably do that. Then his mother, Mary, unknowingly compounds Quinn’s burden by accusing him of hiding the truth from her. His burden of knowing this horrible truth is now also a burden of guilt for not telling the truth. Maybe, under the circumstances, I could handle that, too. But Quinn, selflessly, never seems to regret his choice, never seems angry that he alone carries this burden. That’s a heroic quality. I am not heroic. I am quite certain anger would simmer inside me and finally explode.
Ginger, I think we are on the same page here. Accept, I guess I, by your definition would have been the heroic type. For I would have suffered in silence and protected my mother to the end to relieve her suffering as much as possible, like he did.
Quinn finally confesses to Sadie what happened the day Sarah died after Sadie shows him the “souvenirs” that Robert has kept from his victims. Sadie has lived a harsh life and that has toughened her in some ways. She knows about Robert, knows the truth about what he does. To finally say and hear the horrible truth of what Robert did to Sarah is probably cathartic for both Quinn and Sadie. It is often harder to deal with “I was afraid it was true” than with “It is true.” YES!!!
We suspect that Sadie, as her mother had done, dabbled in the occult; and when she takes Quinn to the cave of hands and sacrifices the lamb, that fact is solidified. (The sacrificial lamb! I had so hoped that wouldn’t happen. More on that later. And the hands? I’ve got to reread that.) The interweaving of the occult, myth, and Christianity was a wonderful way to keep me contemplating what forces actually control human life and how much individual responsibility any one human has. Unbelievably, it worked. I wondered about the Aboriginal element beyond the cave itself, but don't know enough to qualify the question. And it was absolutely necessary for Sadie, the occult element, to be a child. She was still young—playing at the craft, not yet in the full possession of her powers. Or maybe she was just a child who wanted to believe in magic and charms and angels and talking animals. Many coincidences occur—Quinn rubs the shell at the cemetery and Mrs. Porteous appears to distract Robert, Quinn’s is able to creep up on Gracie and his dogs as Sadie said, Quinn’s body carvings begin to itch and Gracie declares him the Angel of Death, etc.—but Sadie is never really credited with the creation/orchestration of these events. I never thought to credit all those occurrences to Sadie..Especially the cemetery scene. hmmmmm.
Robert Dalton’s murder had to occur and had to be at the hands of Quinn in some way. Whether to leave revenge (justice) to God or to society, the law, or to the individual has been a dilemma for Quinn throughout the book. There is neither true justice nor heroism in Quinn’s murder of Robert: Quinn does not have the satisfaction of Robert’s fearful realization that Quinn murders Robert to avenge Sarah’s death (justice) and Quinn is too late to save Sadie from Robert (heroism). The murder left me with neither a happy or sad ending to this story—the ending was simply poignant. Robert has stated that when common people catch and violently punish a criminal that confirms their belief in a caring God (the bad are punished). Conversely, when Quinn murders Robert, he is finally convinced that God is not watching at all, but finally being convinced gives him a certain peace.
It is here that I feel that even though, as Debbie alluded to - Robert's death might be overkill - it accomplished a just end. But was it? No, I don't think it was overkill, but yes, I do feel that it brought the one piece of much needed justice to the book. In doing so, it allowed closure for the story, so that we, the reader could move on and not be left totally Bereft ourselves. If Robert had got away with the rape of Sadie and/or if he had raped & murdered her (even if Quinn had escaped), we would have all arrived at the end of the book with a brick in our stomach and a sense of lose with no closure.
Much like the Shakespearian tragedies, there is a formula here to Bereft. For in fact, is that not what this book is? A modern "tragedy"? We all wanted Quinn to get to Sadie in time to rescue her before she was sullied by the "monster", but like the rest of the tragedies in the book, there was not a glimmer of brightness in the outcome of that, save Sadie survived and she was avenged in the end. Even as Quinn went into the room and found Sadie she was resigned to what happened and accepted it as the inevitable had come and she had survived inspite of it all.
Normally I do not enjoy such a dark book, but this book draws me in. It calls me to look deeper, to listen to the cry of each of the victims, to cry for humanity, to peel back the outer layers of the story and delve into the soul of a world that was reeling like it hadn't reeled in total despair since the great plagues of the middle-ages. It allows us to be voyeurs of others' pain and in doing so realize that maybe our world isn't so bad after all, that there is hope where we are and for the world we live in. But most of all it called me to take those children, yes children they were (Quinn & Sadie), for Quinn quit growing emotionally when Sarah died -- and wrap them in my arms and comfort them and give them the solace they so longed for and sought.
I do believe that a third reading (for a second reading has happened within the discussion) will be a must to fully appreciated it after all the discoveries we have made during our three weeks spent talking about Bereft.
Muse
A really good book is much like an artichoke. As you peel back each page of the of the book, you get closer and closer to the succulent heart of the story.
