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A review by sayonara_sailor
Appointment in Samarra by John O'Hara
5.0
Running from Death, the dissolution of a marriage, the lives of the debt rich, the debtless rich, and the life rich, these would be the common interpretations of Appointment in Samarra. It would be obvious to say such things and to believe them. It would be easy to contrast the three generations of the English family men. There would be clear support for championing Lute Fliegler over Ju English, but I am writing this on the day before my birthday, my 32nd to be precise, and so my attentions are elsewhere. I don't care for Drama, or conflict, or dialogue. Instead I'm thinking of age, and death, and ethics, and... something I can't quote put my finger on.
I've been developing a list. At first it was based on the Modern Library's list, then it grew to include the reader's choices, then an alternate list, and finally, on Fadiman and Major's New Lifetime Reading Plan. As of today, the list has 457 entries, with some entries as short as poems and others as long as Shakespeare's complete works. I am heartened to know that I have read a percentage of the books already, thanks in part to my teenaged discovery of the Modern Library list and thanks in part to my college tour through the English department. But I do not feel that I know even these books as I should, and there are many on my shelf that I will probably revisit sooner or later.
To say this may sound like Appointment in Samarra is a task to be checked off, a passage of words to be claimed, but it is not. On the last day of his life, Julian English spent the day in his office. He said of it that it was one of those days when he could claim equally to be completely busy or not at all busy. He spent the day figuring, taking stock, recording the year as it had passed, exposing weaknesses and inadequacies, much as I have spent the last few days building this list, and reading from it. Equally, I found myself obscuring my task from my wife, not wanting to disclose the list or the reason for it, not wanting to answer her inevitable questions, and her alternative focuses for my time. The only reason I can now name is that I am going to be 32 tomorrow and have lost confidence in my own distinction.
It occurred to me some time ago, in relation to a teacher whom I had had at Art Center, that all it took to make a reasonable degree of success was to be two things: marginally better read then your peers, and ambitious enough to take pride in that fact. At the time, it did not seem to be a prescriptive insight, but at that time I had not lost faith that success in art school was synonymous with success in Art. I was also convinced that I had conquered death and my own mind, was seamless in my own self-conception, and was philosophically well-grounded, well-educated, and well-founded. Today, on the day before my birthday, the only option is none of the above.
I used to never think of death, partly, because I always assumed that by now I would be dead. I didn't think of it in the same way that I didn't think of the sunset. I didn't look forward to it like the fall, and I didn't dread it like the fires of the summer. It was a neutral fact and therefore required no consideration. Now, I wonder if English's list directly precipitated his death, and if my list informs my own. English's list invariably focused on his own inadequacy, and my list as well is only interesting in that it is the sum total of all I have not read, or to be completely honest, what I have never even thought of reading.
I have always thought of myself as an internally motivated man. I have always used the word ethics to describe the ideals I hold beyond the ability of them to be logically, emotionally, or narratively proven, and I have always contrasted it with religion. I have very rarely found a religious person who appeared to me to be ethical, and it seems to me a difference in kind. 'I am religious so that I am relieved of the responsibility to be ethical.' It seems a fairly simple substitution of that which you are held personally responsible for that to which a group, at best, is responsible. I can say that I am not often impressed by the actions, motives, thoughts, or ambitions of the religious, and that I have been, to a greater degree, respectful of those who appear ethical, even when their ideals are contrary to my own and their actions are indefensible by myself.
My question to myself then is: what meaning is there to be made from the the death of Julian English, his suicide?
(It has been about three and a half hours that I let this question gestate. During that time I have lectured in my Photoshop class how to create a convincing special effect of an invisible man. I return to this statement during the lab session of that class without an answer specifically in my head, and with the potential of being at any time interrupted.)
I must clarify. I do not intend to justify suicide for myself or others. I have outgrown it as I have outgrown many decisions in my life. I also do not intend to assume that the act is idealistic and then search for a justification of it. Nor do I intend to assume the opposite and reject it. My question has more to do with O'Hara and that thing that I am having trouble putting my finger on. It is clear from the title forward that someone is going to die. It is clear also from the title that this person will attempt to elude death, at least temporarily. It is clear from the second chapter on that the death will belong to Julian English. However, it is in no way clear or obvious if Julian English's death fulfills the title or is indeed eluded prior to the event.
The title, Appointment in Samarra, alludes to the punch-line of a humorous story/joke, although the book is no more or less humorous than anything else O'Hara has written. Equally, there is nothing of the conclusion that tips the story in the direction of comedy, satire, farce, etc. If anything the book plays the final 50 pages completely straight. There seems to be a disjunction (misdirection) implied by the title that is completely localizable to the event of the death but never fulfilled. In other words, there is a setup but no punch-line. It is as if the three businessmen visiting the farmer's house had slept the night comfortably and left on their way the next morning, with the notable exception that the absence of a joke is here the joke, the overturning of a convention. The same can not be confidently said of O'Hara's work.
So the question may possibly be restated as: is O'Hara an author whose ideals are discernible through a careful study of what he has written, in which case there is inherent meaning to the death of English, or is his authorship a concealment or misdirection of (a staged escape from) the question of meaning, in which case there is intentionally no meaning in the death of English, or is the entirety of Julian English, his trials and his contact with others itself a joke that O'Hara as the teller has no choice but to play straight?
If O'Hara is an idealistic author then where are his ideals revealed. It is common for stories of this kind, especially for stories of relationship strife to have a character (usually not a main character) who acts as the heart of the story. They are often set up as a victim to some extent. The simplest version would be the child of a divorcing couple, although this level of obviousness is in all cases distasteful. The death here though is as near a victimless event as could be imagined. The wife by her own admission will be fine. The business will be looked after by interested parties. It seems that Fliegler may actually benefit by replacing his boss. The father is relieved of his burden. It is hard to think that any other character is not at the very least unaffected by the death. If there is a heart of this story, it would have to be English himself, whose death removes him from the stage making it impossible for him to experience the loss. All of the above is supported by the last chapter, which seems only to emphasise that this is at least one of the most anomalous third acts in any book ever.
I would not argue that a story such as this must have a heart, or that having a heart it would be unthinkable to remove the heart at a critical moment, but I would say that I do not believe that English is, or is intended to be the heart of this story. This instinct is strengthen by the fact that O'Hara the narrator has no sensitivity to English's plight and no empathy for his suffering, so even if English does appear at points to fulfil this role, he can still provide no insight into O'Hara's motives, ideals, or intended meanings. English himself can provide no insight into the meaning of English's death. He is as empty as the Cadillacs he drives, a tool, at best a system of conditioned responses, a machine being driven automatically into its own destruction.
So then if the act of suicide, as performed by English, cannot be imbued with inherent, self-sufficient meaning, and his death makes no negative impact on his environment, it may be true that his death is indeed meaningless, or a concealment/misdirection of meaning. Meaning meaningfully withheld. It is notable to mention that in the original Samarra story/joke the servant is the least important or thoughtful character. He sees and runs, or from death's perspective, sees, misunderstands and runs. The two important and thoughtful characters are the curious master and the surprised death. This counts out English as a holder of meaning. The question becomes: who embodies the role of the master and who death?
It would be too easy to mark O'Hara in both of these roles. He is, after all, the master of his characters: their life and their death, but this serves only to obscure the question of meaning by hiding it in circular argument. I would say that the reader is the master. Masters do not empathise with slaves, the dynamics of power do not permit it. Equally, masters are at the mercy of their slaves' conditioned responses; they must accept the instinct to run, to avoid punishment, to hide. O'Hara also enforces the reader's superiority to English, his predictability and his short-sightedness. Furthermore, it is the reader alone who can act as the curious party, seeking after death and questioning the oncoming death, trying to understand death's motives and meanings.
Death is the more difficult party to locate, and unlike the Samarra story/joke, O'Hara's death is neither personified nor given reason. If it were, the source of my questions would have easy answers. Asking the question, who is death, is meaningless, but this does not mean that there is no meaning in English's death. The meaning here may be that death is and should remain an imponderable fact, with meaning that can only be incompletely or incorrectly supposed. This makes O'Hara not a comedian but a con man. His misdirection is in the service of robbing the master/reader. 'I will produce in you the expectation of a resolution that includes a meaningful death (the misdirection). You will be preoccupied with this expectation and you will follow it attentively while a slight-of-hand occurs that leaves you without English, the story's only touchstone, no matter how unsympathetic he may be, and leaves you without an understanding of death, The con complete, you are left with a final chapter in which you try to recoup your investment only to find that possibility closed off at every turn.
In this model, O'Hara's stance is the only one possible. He must play the con man straight, complete and consistent, and a meaningful death, the promise of 4000 years of literature is revealed as the empty promise that it has always ultimately been, a literary event that is worthy of canonisation.
I've been developing a list. At first it was based on the Modern Library's list, then it grew to include the reader's choices, then an alternate list, and finally, on Fadiman and Major's New Lifetime Reading Plan. As of today, the list has 457 entries, with some entries as short as poems and others as long as Shakespeare's complete works. I am heartened to know that I have read a percentage of the books already, thanks in part to my teenaged discovery of the Modern Library list and thanks in part to my college tour through the English department. But I do not feel that I know even these books as I should, and there are many on my shelf that I will probably revisit sooner or later.
To say this may sound like Appointment in Samarra is a task to be checked off, a passage of words to be claimed, but it is not. On the last day of his life, Julian English spent the day in his office. He said of it that it was one of those days when he could claim equally to be completely busy or not at all busy. He spent the day figuring, taking stock, recording the year as it had passed, exposing weaknesses and inadequacies, much as I have spent the last few days building this list, and reading from it. Equally, I found myself obscuring my task from my wife, not wanting to disclose the list or the reason for it, not wanting to answer her inevitable questions, and her alternative focuses for my time. The only reason I can now name is that I am going to be 32 tomorrow and have lost confidence in my own distinction.
It occurred to me some time ago, in relation to a teacher whom I had had at Art Center, that all it took to make a reasonable degree of success was to be two things: marginally better read then your peers, and ambitious enough to take pride in that fact. At the time, it did not seem to be a prescriptive insight, but at that time I had not lost faith that success in art school was synonymous with success in Art. I was also convinced that I had conquered death and my own mind, was seamless in my own self-conception, and was philosophically well-grounded, well-educated, and well-founded. Today, on the day before my birthday, the only option is none of the above.
I used to never think of death, partly, because I always assumed that by now I would be dead. I didn't think of it in the same way that I didn't think of the sunset. I didn't look forward to it like the fall, and I didn't dread it like the fires of the summer. It was a neutral fact and therefore required no consideration. Now, I wonder if English's list directly precipitated his death, and if my list informs my own. English's list invariably focused on his own inadequacy, and my list as well is only interesting in that it is the sum total of all I have not read, or to be completely honest, what I have never even thought of reading.
I have always thought of myself as an internally motivated man. I have always used the word ethics to describe the ideals I hold beyond the ability of them to be logically, emotionally, or narratively proven, and I have always contrasted it with religion. I have very rarely found a religious person who appeared to me to be ethical, and it seems to me a difference in kind. 'I am religious so that I am relieved of the responsibility to be ethical.' It seems a fairly simple substitution of that which you are held personally responsible for that to which a group, at best, is responsible. I can say that I am not often impressed by the actions, motives, thoughts, or ambitions of the religious, and that I have been, to a greater degree, respectful of those who appear ethical, even when their ideals are contrary to my own and their actions are indefensible by myself.
My question to myself then is: what meaning is there to be made from the the death of Julian English, his suicide?
(It has been about three and a half hours that I let this question gestate. During that time I have lectured in my Photoshop class how to create a convincing special effect of an invisible man. I return to this statement during the lab session of that class without an answer specifically in my head, and with the potential of being at any time interrupted.)
I must clarify. I do not intend to justify suicide for myself or others. I have outgrown it as I have outgrown many decisions in my life. I also do not intend to assume that the act is idealistic and then search for a justification of it. Nor do I intend to assume the opposite and reject it. My question has more to do with O'Hara and that thing that I am having trouble putting my finger on. It is clear from the title forward that someone is going to die. It is clear also from the title that this person will attempt to elude death, at least temporarily. It is clear from the second chapter on that the death will belong to Julian English. However, it is in no way clear or obvious if Julian English's death fulfills the title or is indeed eluded prior to the event.
The title, Appointment in Samarra, alludes to the punch-line of a humorous story/joke, although the book is no more or less humorous than anything else O'Hara has written. Equally, there is nothing of the conclusion that tips the story in the direction of comedy, satire, farce, etc. If anything the book plays the final 50 pages completely straight. There seems to be a disjunction (misdirection) implied by the title that is completely localizable to the event of the death but never fulfilled. In other words, there is a setup but no punch-line. It is as if the three businessmen visiting the farmer's house had slept the night comfortably and left on their way the next morning, with the notable exception that the absence of a joke is here the joke, the overturning of a convention. The same can not be confidently said of O'Hara's work.
So the question may possibly be restated as: is O'Hara an author whose ideals are discernible through a careful study of what he has written, in which case there is inherent meaning to the death of English, or is his authorship a concealment or misdirection of (a staged escape from) the question of meaning, in which case there is intentionally no meaning in the death of English, or is the entirety of Julian English, his trials and his contact with others itself a joke that O'Hara as the teller has no choice but to play straight?
If O'Hara is an idealistic author then where are his ideals revealed. It is common for stories of this kind, especially for stories of relationship strife to have a character (usually not a main character) who acts as the heart of the story. They are often set up as a victim to some extent. The simplest version would be the child of a divorcing couple, although this level of obviousness is in all cases distasteful. The death here though is as near a victimless event as could be imagined. The wife by her own admission will be fine. The business will be looked after by interested parties. It seems that Fliegler may actually benefit by replacing his boss. The father is relieved of his burden. It is hard to think that any other character is not at the very least unaffected by the death. If there is a heart of this story, it would have to be English himself, whose death removes him from the stage making it impossible for him to experience the loss. All of the above is supported by the last chapter, which seems only to emphasise that this is at least one of the most anomalous third acts in any book ever.
I would not argue that a story such as this must have a heart, or that having a heart it would be unthinkable to remove the heart at a critical moment, but I would say that I do not believe that English is, or is intended to be the heart of this story. This instinct is strengthen by the fact that O'Hara the narrator has no sensitivity to English's plight and no empathy for his suffering, so even if English does appear at points to fulfil this role, he can still provide no insight into O'Hara's motives, ideals, or intended meanings. English himself can provide no insight into the meaning of English's death. He is as empty as the Cadillacs he drives, a tool, at best a system of conditioned responses, a machine being driven automatically into its own destruction.
So then if the act of suicide, as performed by English, cannot be imbued with inherent, self-sufficient meaning, and his death makes no negative impact on his environment, it may be true that his death is indeed meaningless, or a concealment/misdirection of meaning. Meaning meaningfully withheld. It is notable to mention that in the original Samarra story/joke the servant is the least important or thoughtful character. He sees and runs, or from death's perspective, sees, misunderstands and runs. The two important and thoughtful characters are the curious master and the surprised death. This counts out English as a holder of meaning. The question becomes: who embodies the role of the master and who death?
It would be too easy to mark O'Hara in both of these roles. He is, after all, the master of his characters: their life and their death, but this serves only to obscure the question of meaning by hiding it in circular argument. I would say that the reader is the master. Masters do not empathise with slaves, the dynamics of power do not permit it. Equally, masters are at the mercy of their slaves' conditioned responses; they must accept the instinct to run, to avoid punishment, to hide. O'Hara also enforces the reader's superiority to English, his predictability and his short-sightedness. Furthermore, it is the reader alone who can act as the curious party, seeking after death and questioning the oncoming death, trying to understand death's motives and meanings.
Death is the more difficult party to locate, and unlike the Samarra story/joke, O'Hara's death is neither personified nor given reason. If it were, the source of my questions would have easy answers. Asking the question, who is death, is meaningless, but this does not mean that there is no meaning in English's death. The meaning here may be that death is and should remain an imponderable fact, with meaning that can only be incompletely or incorrectly supposed. This makes O'Hara not a comedian but a con man. His misdirection is in the service of robbing the master/reader. 'I will produce in you the expectation of a resolution that includes a meaningful death (the misdirection). You will be preoccupied with this expectation and you will follow it attentively while a slight-of-hand occurs that leaves you without English, the story's only touchstone, no matter how unsympathetic he may be, and leaves you without an understanding of death, The con complete, you are left with a final chapter in which you try to recoup your investment only to find that possibility closed off at every turn.
In this model, O'Hara's stance is the only one possible. He must play the con man straight, complete and consistent, and a meaningful death, the promise of 4000 years of literature is revealed as the empty promise that it has always ultimately been, a literary event that is worthy of canonisation.