Life of Pi
I feel that before I trot merrily off into Pigtopia, I should probably record some thoughts on Life of Pi, if only for the sake of the eventual youtube review I may or may not make on the subject.
The author could easily have told the story with humans, as he did in brief at the end of the book. But why did he choose to tell it with animals? Merely for the fancy factor?
The hyena is the id -- all that is mean and brutish in humanity, the bodily need to consume without remorse. It has no shame, no higher consciousness; its gluttony is absolute. Consistently Pi reacts to the hyena with revulsion. And yet, better the direct savagery of a dog than the silent stealth of a cat. (Ironic, since hyenas are in fact more feline than canine.)
The zebra is innocence. The zebra is peace. The zebra is inner tranquility, the zen master, he who resists without resisting. The zebra is Pi's childhood, his security in his family and his home, in safety. The zebra is the superego. The zebra is grotesquely broken down and consumed by the hyena, as Pi's innocence is shattered, his safety stripped away, and his peaceful tranquility (his sainthood is marked by his vegetarianism, which is soon forgotten) drowned in savagery.
Orange Juice the orang-utan is his mother, a powerful figure in the story of a child. She is protector and friend, the most sympathetic of the animals. And yet even she is shocking in this situation as she fights for the autonomy of the zebra. A mother will protect her child, even when they are not of one species.
Richard Parker. This is more complicated, as Richard Parker is many things over the course of the story. He is at once God and Pi's own ego. He is at once fear of death and will to live. Burden and salvation, friend and foe. The gunnel of the lifeboat becomes the razor's edge that we, as humans, must walk between these two forces as we struggle through life.
And what of the frenchman he meets at sea? Pi is blind when this meeting happens. This is the only part of the story that lends any credence at all to the alternate version of the story populated by humans. That in his delusional state Pi has re-cast the crew of his small ship -- including himself -- as appropriate animals is hardly out of the realm of possibility. His blindness in these chapters could indicate that process breaking down just long enough for him to take an active role in actually, finally, killing the cook. But too much of that story does not add up. The hyena dies long before we befriend the frenchman.
I prefer to think that this human voice in the depths of his despair presents him with that which he has lost -- India, in the form of the cigarettes his mother wanted to buy before leaving, and the boot which he lost in the shipwreck along with everything else. And above all they speak of food. Two very different styles of cuisine: the vegetarian and the carnivorous, the saintly and the savage. By adhering to his saintly vegetarianism, offering the man a seat in the boat and nearly losing his life for it (if not for Richard Parker) Pi redeems himself and regains his sight. His tears wash the salt from his eyes.
Then where does the body come from?
The island is easy. It is Eden. It even has a Tree of Knowledge that results in Pi's expulsion from paradise. It may be an unusual and otherworldly Eden, but it is possibly the most easily recognizable symbol in the whole story. And it proves to me that recognizable symbols DO have power, no matter how old and seemingly overused they are. As Pi peeled the leaves from the fruit, I was tense as a coiled spring, more so than at any other point in the book, because I knew what was coming. Something horrible, some final loss of innocence.
A tooth is an interesting choice. In dreams, the loss of teeth is said to represent unresolved childhood issues and growing pains. Certainly fitting.
Oh! And one other thing. His father. When he shows Pi and his brother the tiger eating the goat, we see a preacher putting the fear of God into his congregation. This is what will happen to you if you don't follow the rules. "Yes, Father," the children repeatedly intone. But we also see a father trying desperately to protect his children from the cruel and dangerous world he knows too well.
And finally, the sea and the sky. It would be remiss of me not to mention these. Between the two, they show clearly the utter indifference of the universe to the doings of mankind, our smallness in the face of the unforgiving cosmos. A strange message in a book so laden with religious intent, but I appreciate its presence. This indifference, clearly stated, drives home the point that our spiritual satisfaction must be found within ourselves, and not imposed from without. The universe does not care about our salvation nearly as much as we do.
The author could easily have told the story with humans, as he did in brief at the end of the book. But why did he choose to tell it with animals? Merely for the fancy factor?
The hyena is the id -- all that is mean and brutish in humanity, the bodily need to consume without remorse. It has no shame, no higher consciousness; its gluttony is absolute. Consistently Pi reacts to the hyena with revulsion. And yet, better the direct savagery of a dog than the silent stealth of a cat. (Ironic, since hyenas are in fact more feline than canine.)
The zebra is innocence. The zebra is peace. The zebra is inner tranquility, the zen master, he who resists without resisting. The zebra is Pi's childhood, his security in his family and his home, in safety. The zebra is the superego. The zebra is grotesquely broken down and consumed by the hyena, as Pi's innocence is shattered, his safety stripped away, and his peaceful tranquility (his sainthood is marked by his vegetarianism, which is soon forgotten) drowned in savagery.
Orange Juice the orang-utan is his mother, a powerful figure in the story of a child. She is protector and friend, the most sympathetic of the animals. And yet even she is shocking in this situation as she fights for the autonomy of the zebra. A mother will protect her child, even when they are not of one species.
Richard Parker. This is more complicated, as Richard Parker is many things over the course of the story. He is at once God and Pi's own ego. He is at once fear of death and will to live. Burden and salvation, friend and foe. The gunnel of the lifeboat becomes the razor's edge that we, as humans, must walk between these two forces as we struggle through life.
And what of the frenchman he meets at sea? Pi is blind when this meeting happens. This is the only part of the story that lends any credence at all to the alternate version of the story populated by humans. That in his delusional state Pi has re-cast the crew of his small ship -- including himself -- as appropriate animals is hardly out of the realm of possibility. His blindness in these chapters could indicate that process breaking down just long enough for him to take an active role in actually, finally, killing the cook. But too much of that story does not add up. The hyena dies long before we befriend the frenchman.
I prefer to think that this human voice in the depths of his despair presents him with that which he has lost -- India, in the form of the cigarettes his mother wanted to buy before leaving, and the boot which he lost in the shipwreck along with everything else. And above all they speak of food. Two very different styles of cuisine: the vegetarian and the carnivorous, the saintly and the savage. By adhering to his saintly vegetarianism, offering the man a seat in the boat and nearly losing his life for it (if not for Richard Parker) Pi redeems himself and regains his sight. His tears wash the salt from his eyes.
Then where does the body come from?
The island is easy. It is Eden. It even has a Tree of Knowledge that results in Pi's expulsion from paradise. It may be an unusual and otherworldly Eden, but it is possibly the most easily recognizable symbol in the whole story. And it proves to me that recognizable symbols DO have power, no matter how old and seemingly overused they are. As Pi peeled the leaves from the fruit, I was tense as a coiled spring, more so than at any other point in the book, because I knew what was coming. Something horrible, some final loss of innocence.
A tooth is an interesting choice. In dreams, the loss of teeth is said to represent unresolved childhood issues and growing pains. Certainly fitting.
Oh! And one other thing. His father. When he shows Pi and his brother the tiger eating the goat, we see a preacher putting the fear of God into his congregation. This is what will happen to you if you don't follow the rules. "Yes, Father," the children repeatedly intone. But we also see a father trying desperately to protect his children from the cruel and dangerous world he knows too well.
And finally, the sea and the sky. It would be remiss of me not to mention these. Between the two, they show clearly the utter indifference of the universe to the doings of mankind, our smallness in the face of the unforgiving cosmos. A strange message in a book so laden with religious intent, but I appreciate its presence. This indifference, clearly stated, drives home the point that our spiritual satisfaction must be found within ourselves, and not imposed from without. The universe does not care about our salvation nearly as much as we do.