Impermanence

*sorry for weird spacing I have no idea how to fix it and yes I've tried*

When we delved into our fourth novel, Housekeeping, one of its largest, most sobering messages
was that of impermanence. Whatever moment you’re in, including one where you’re reading this
sentence is the first and last moment you will do that in this point in time. Sure, you can re-read
the previous sentence, but it won’t be the same as the first time around, and one could argue
that you’re somewhat of a different person reading it for a second time. As someone who has
somewhat of a Peter Pan Syndrome, this is especially humbling. After all, time passing is brutal.
We lose things, people, experiences into oblivion. I find myself frequently trying to fight
impermanence; to hold onto every moment I can. Sure, I will likely have great years ahead of
me, but I’m only 17 once. You only have this upcoming summer break at the age you’re at once.
You can hold onto memories of previous ones as much as possible, but you can never fully re-
live something exactly as it was, hence we have the bittersweetness of nostalgia. It seems
obvious, of course, but it’s painful. And it’s beautiful.

Impermanence is a large theme in pretty much all of the novels we read this year. Maybe it
wasn’t as obvious as in Ruth’s case, but each character at some point comes face-to-face with
the inevitable, and has to do something about it. Some fight, some succumb, some see it more
than others, some are unaware until a certain point. Usually, the ending is a poignant scene of
acceptance or wonder about the future, with conflicts somewhat resolved, but again, it varies
from story to story. Here’s how I observed each character dealing with impermanence:

First, our dear emo friend Stephen Dedalus. Stephen’s story is filled with examples of
impermanence. Arguably, the most blatant example being Stephen’s relationship with his father.
In the first chapter, Stephen looks up to his father as a successful working family man. Starting
in the second chapter, however, he starts to see holes in his father’s being, from his oblivious
gabbing about nothing to his habit of drinking/gambling and forcing his family to move when
they can no longer afford to live somewhere. By the third and fourth chapters, he sees his dad
as just an old slob. The ending of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man can somewhat be
interpreted as Stephen’s succumbing to impermanence by leaving his home and everything
he’s been previously attached to for the solitary artist life, and it can also be compared to Ruth’s
departure as a “crossing of a bridge” in a way.

Holden Caulfield is arguably the most disturbed by impermanence. He hates the idea of
growing up and becoming like all the phony adults around him. He can’t stand the world
changing, and a lot of this is to do with his still unprocessed grief regarding his brother’s death -
he doesn’t think the world has a right to keep turning without Allie in it. In the scene where he
goes to see Allie’s grave, he gets angry at all the people strolling around nearby, oblivious to
the pain he’s feeling. The ending of the novel shows Holden watching his sister go around and
around on the carousel, smiling stupidly because he’s at peace for once… or maybe not, we
can’t really tell. Holden closes his book by essentially saying “I’m not sure if I’m going to apply
myself next year or not”, so we can infer he’s not through with his battle against impermanence.

Esther’s story doesn’t deal super indepthly with impermanence, but you can tell she’s not a fan.
Through each major decision, she’s stuck at crossroads, terrified of making the “wrong” choice.
She dreads inevitable future events like marriage and children, which technically aren’t required
for living, but she has a ton of pressure on her to live up to the feminine standard of the time.
It’s becoming clearer and clearer by day that this future will pick her up and swallow her - from
her peering out the window at the poster housewife Dodo Conway to her tentative nature
around her longtime sort-of boyfriend, Buddy Willard. Again, these aren’t technically required
for her, but you see in the scene where Buddy (cringe-ly) proposes that her desires aren’t really
heard in the eyes-or, ears, I guess-of the privileged. At the end, we hear from a future Esther
that she has recovered from her breakdown and is healthy, as well as being pregnant. What
changed in the decade before this, we don’t know, but she’s likely wrapped her head around
the imminent passage of time at least a little bit.

Ruth’s story, probably the first one we think of when we mention impermanence or transience,
is rather unique. Hers is one of a full-fledged surrender to impermanence as she joins her
transient aunt Sylvie in travelling from place to place, breaking free from ordinary attachments.
Her language is striking throughout the novel as she describes the deaths of her grandparents
and her mother’s rather scarring suicide. She envisions these as just mere facts - yeah,
grandpa’s train rolled off the tracks, as trains do. Mom drove off a cliff. Bye, I guess? And it’s
probably not that Ruth isn’t saddened by these events or changes, but she accepts them as
inevitable in a way. She doesn’t fight the world’s constant turning. She lets the spinning continue
without trying to get in the way, something we don’t see a lot in our other novels.

Jason’s story is one of the most relatable to us, arguably. At some points in the novel, he’s
almost begging for impermanence - to see an end to his bullying, to see a rise in his social
status. Yet it’s also rather frightening. Tom Yew’s death affects him, even if he won’t admit it. His
parents’ conflict sticks him in an increasingly awkward position. The penultimate scene comes
when he revisits the frozen lake a year after the beginning of the novel, it’s as if everyone who
he was intimidated by has somehow been “dethroned”. Ross Wilcox lost his leg, Grant Burch is
chased out by Phelps, Tom Yew died, his once-authoritarian father is moving out with his new
girlfriend, the scary house is proven to be filled with actually very nice people, and his sister
Julia has become a dependable ally rather than a ruthless foe. Everything has changed. And
while some of these changes are actually positive, it’s upsetting to Jason. He gets in the car to
drive to his new home, and cries to Julia, saying that change is rough, even if he’s in a better
place than the previous year. This scene is heartbreaking, but also hopeful, as we’ve seen
Jason grow and become more comfortable with himself throughout the novel, and we know that
no matter what happens, he will be alright.

While we haven’t been reading Sag Harbor too long (at the point I’m writing this), we can tell
Benji is wrestling with the passage of time. From the beginning, we are introduced to his conflict
with his once-Siamese twin of a brother, Reggie. Reggie seems to be doing most of the
branching off, getting new clothes and exploring new style, while Benji is hesitant to give up
things he’s loved for a while. Benji is fascinated by the changes his friends at Sag have endured
each summer when they meet, while Reggie is a bit more indifferent. Reggie is somewhat like
Lucille, in that he’s willing to go with the flow more - but in the opposite way - as Lucille
embraces a domestic life, Reggie embraces the passage of time.

We can tell from the first few paragraphs that Benji is aware of the impermanence of his trips to
Sag Harbor. He sees his older sister, Elena stop coming to Sag, and he knows it’s only a matter
of time before his time is up. He puts pressure on himself to have a great summer, knowing his
opportunities of an youthful summer vacation are dwindling.

Looking at these characters, I saw a bit of myself in all of them, really. I can be aloof like
Stephen, dramatic like Holden, subdued and misfit-y like Esther, mysterious like Ruth, self-
editing like Jason, and unsure of my place like Benji. As far as their experiences with
impermanence, I find myself to be most like everyone except maybe Stephen and Ruth - I don’t
like succumbing to the passage of time. While, like Jason, I enjoy the growth that comes with
getting older, I’m never really ready to leave that figure of a Black Swan Green hometown. Like
Ben, my upcoming summers and years have pressure to be “the best one yet”, as I know I have
fewer and fewer left. I don’t necessarily hate the world like Holden, but I have a lot of similar
fears when it comes to growing up - I’m definitely going to be a rather childlike 32-year-old. But
because I can’t stop time, I tend to stress over big decisions like Esther, knowing that the wrong
one might result in a waste of already-finite time.

Time passing is painful and beautiful, and it’s especially powerful when you’re at the age we are. Coming of age can be seen as somewhat of a struggle with time, and we somehow “come out the other end” more accepting, still afraid, or just grateful to be alive. And growing isn’t bad - hence the phrase “it gets better”. Change can break our hearts, sure, but there’s always hope somewhere within. I especially resonate with and find peace in the final scene of Black Swan Green, showing Jason Taylor at his most vulnerable, tearfully bidding farewell to his hometown. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s sad or afraid, or that he’s been shaken by all the changes he’s endured, but in the midst of his sadness, he knows deep down that everything will be okay. It’s good to feel sad because of change, as it’s a reminder that you felt really good once. And while impermanence is inevitable, as these characters have shown, things can and will turn out just fine.