A week ago I was wandering around the site and ended up in cfk’s Bookchat Discussion. In one of the comments she mentioned that the book Shane was a favorite of hers. I replied that my memory of Alan Ladd in the movie made it hard for me to consider it. But, she insisted that it was worthwhile. So, last weekend I went to the library and checked it out. It’s a short book and I finished it quickly.
I then realized that I wanted to talk to her about it and mentioned this in a comment section to a different diary. She said that her next version of Bookflurries would be about Shane and I should drop by. But, Wednesday night was out of the question for me because of personal reasons, and, when I typed up my thoughts in preparation they ran to nine pages. Yikes!
A little long for a comment. Hell, that’s long for a diary, but here it is. BTW, unless you have a really big interest in the book Shane you should immediately skip this diary, if you haven’t already.
First, let me say, I enjoyed it very much. Now, on with the fun.
Archetypes, Myth, and Pop Psychology
Your admonition to consider myth and Pinkola-Estes’ work are very appropriate to this work. Clearly, the character of Shane is mythic in that the book has a slightly unrealistic air to it, which is inherent in myth. Can someone actually be that good?, not really, but that’s not the point.
Women Who Run With the Wolves is a Jungian jaunt down the mythic lanes highlighting the power of women. Shane is a wonderful example of the Jungian Warrior Archetype. The fact that Shane is a favorite of yours ties these two points together.
Carol Pearson in The Hero Within – Six Archetypes We Live By discusses, as does Pinkola-Estes, how many women in our historically patriarchal society have a need to embrace the Warrior Archetype in order to help them become more assertive in claiming their own space. Does this observation resonate with you?
(For a total digression, the documentary, Heart of the Game, is about a university professor who also coaches a girl’s basketball team at a local high school and takes them to the state championship. Being the father of three women he says he enjoys teaching young girls how to literally claim their own space.)
Now, to continue heedlessly on with this pop psychology, I was wondering if you read this book as a young girl. If so, was Shane a mythic father figure for you? What was (is) your relationship with your own father?
Since turnabout is fair play I will discuss my own. My father died when I was 10 and we were never very close. He was 43 when I was born. I had three older sisters and no brothers, so I was raised without a lot of male influence in my life, though my maternal uncle would play cards and shoot pool with me sometimes (he had no sons of his own).
As a mature adult, when I was exposed to the Men’s Movement I was struck by how much I craved the paternal affirmation that was spoken of. Robert Bly has said, "The purpose of old men is to bless young men." Goodness yes, and I try to follow that admonition whenever I can. But it is exactly that aspect of the relationship between the boy Bob and Shane that is so appealing.
Myth vs. Real Life
The point of view is an important part of the book. It is told by the son, a naïve narrator that helps give the story its mythic air. It also helps it to avoid some of the more obvious things that might lead the story away from myth and into real life, e.g., the sexual tension between the wife and Shane.
While this is obliquely addressed, it is instructive to compare the sexual tension in Shane with the same in a more modern book like Eye of the Needle. I know that the scene in the movie where Donald Sutherland walks in on the mother in the tub with her child and hesitates longer than he should before excusing himself while the mother looks at him unselfconsciously, is probably one of the most erotic things I’ve ever seen.
Compare that to the exchange between Shane and Marian after Shane has knocked the husband out so he can fight the bad guys alone:
Marian says, "We have battered down words that might have been spoken between us and that was as it should be. But I have a right to know now. I am part of this, too. And what I do depends on what you tell me now. Are you doing this just for me?"
Shane replies with the wonderful, almost cryptic, "No, Marian. Could I separate you in my mind and afterwards be a man?"
YA Lit
In my library the book is shelved in the Young Adults (YA) section. It is easy to see why, with it’s young narrator and mythic nature. It’s interesting to note, though, that the book was written in 1949, long before YA was an established genre.
As a teenager and young adult I read Salinger’s Catcher In the Rye several times and always enjoyed it. Then I happened to pick it up again much later, after being married and having kids who were teenagers. I was immediately struck by the tone, it was one I now associated with the prolific, acknowledged YA master Paul Zindel!
The realization stopped me in my tracks – Catcher In the Rye was just another YA genre book! Of course, that’s ridiculous. Salinger’s book is a fine piece of true literature and easily withstands the passage of time. But, certainly, my take on the book wasn’t the same reading it as a mature adult as opposed to a callow youth.
I’m reminded of Susan Sarandon’s comment about Little Women that when she first read it she identified with Jo, but when she read it again to prepare for the movie, she identified with the Mother. As an adult I could recognize all the adolescent faults of Holden all too well that somehow I missed when young!
Excuse the digression. In regards to Shane I’m sure that if I had read it as a child or teen I would think about it differently then how I do now. It is interesting to consider whether there are books that would resist that formulation. I read Grass’ Tin Drum in high school and I doubt as to whether I would look at it differently now. But then, it’s hard to identify with any of the characters in it. I would think that such identification is what causes the change in outlook and why it was so strong for me in the case of Salinger’s book.
Warriors, Shadows, and Foreign Policy
Now, on to some of my own feelings about Shane. The Warrior Archetype, especially as personified by someone like Shane, is always very appealing to men, and I’m no exception. Shane has an almost eastern air of restraint about him, often reminiscent of the David Carradine character in the old television show Kung Fu. Movies like The Magnificent Seven, being an adaptation of Seven Samurai, made explicit this connection between the two cultures.
The problem, of course, is that a great deal of self-discipline is required to effectuate the reality, and that’s not something our culture (especially for us old hippies) is known for. All the quality karate writers say that the purpose of becoming a black belt is not to be able to go into bars and kick butt, rather the purpose is to be able avoid having to fight. Shane exemplifies that view.
But, in Jungian psychology all archetypes have a dark, or shadow, side. It is the John Wayne idea of heroism that inspires young people to join the Marines, even in the midst of war. The Old West cowboy mythos gives emotional underpinning to the Neo-Con theories of spreading democracy in the Middle East. It is a naïve view of being a warrior that eschews the real effects of violence and the horror of killing. (I was going to say "complexity of reality", but there’s no way I’d use that phrase after reading granny doc’s diary the other day)
Shane represents the personification of what most of us would hope U.S. policy to be. Sort of a Speak softly and carry a big stick kind of thing. If you don’t cause us any problems, we will go about our business and leave you alone. But, threaten us and you will be quickly and efficiently dealt with.
But, as I said before, this requires a lot of self-discipline.
Plot
cfk, one of the main things that I wanted to ask you about was your comment concerning "great plots". Not being a lit major I have very little idea how to talk about books in term of their plot. I know there are stories that are "plot-driven" (like mysteries or action thrillers I would assume) and ones that are "character-driven", though no immediate examples come to mind.
Maybe my earlier example of Catcher in the Rye would qualify. Certain Holden is a very well realized creation, but it you asked me what the plot was I’m not sure what I’d say, probably that it was a Coming of Age story, but I don’t think that quite covers it.
How would you describe the plot of Shane and why would it be important to examine that aspect of the book? What do you usually take away from a book when doing this type of analysis?
As I think about Shane in terms of plot it begins to come to me that one issue is Who’s the main character in the plot, the young narrator or Shane? As I pointed out earlier, the POV is important in setting the tone of the book. But, isn’t this also a Coming of Age book, like I mentioned with Catcher?
I think in my earlier focus on the mythic nature of Shane I missed the point that the person in the novel who undergoes change is the boy Bob. He learns the limitations of the use of power and how its exercise affects the person engaged in its use. Sort of like how the characters in Lord of the Rings have to retire from society after fighting in their wars.
I guess that makes the book pedagogical in scope and another reason why it might appeal to you. It tries to give us a sustaining myth on which to grow. Which of course goes back to Pinkola-Estes.
Other Interpretations
After I wrote my first draft of this I went on the Internet and found some interesting critical pieces on Shane. Two were written by students and two were written by professional critics.
The first student essay also discusses archetypes and shadows. It points out that Shane is a combination of the Warrior and Mentor, which I would agree with. The essay also highlights the incident when Shane touchingly washes Chris’ face after overpowering him:
Shane demonstrates the archetype of a mentor when he is not pleased with his behavior that overpowers his patience and motivates him to thrash Chris’ body. He becomes ashamed of his actions and cradles Chris in his arms. His act of kindness to succor Chris is overheard by Bob and he realizes even though Shane must establish authority and power through violence that he is never any less courteous.
The word that stuck out in that passage to me was "ashamed". Was that really the motivation? But more on that later.
The second student essay compares Shane to Dickens’ A Christmas Carol:
In . . . Shane, Jack Schaefer states his opinion on peoples’ ability to change. Shane says . . . , "A man is what he is, Bob, and there’s no breaking the mold." [snip] Shane tries very hard to prevent having to return to his violent past. [snip] By having Shane return to solving problems with a gun, Jack Schaefer implies that a man cannot change . . ."
This is then contrasted to "[t]he moral of A Christmas Carol is "People can make changes in their lives whenever they really want to, even right up to the end." Not surprisingly, the author prefers the second.
Again, what was interesting to me was this statement in the review, "Shane does not like discussing his past with anybody, as if he were ashamed." There’s that word again.
The first by a real critic is called Jack Schaefer, Teller of Tales, written by Louis Torres. It is well worth reading. Let me quote some to give you its flavor:
He wrote sympathetic tales not only about childhood but about old age: no American fiction writer has had keener insight into the need of children for heroic exemplars, or of the need of the very old for autonomy. He wrote parables, humorous tales, a Civil War novel, and two novels for children. The essential purpose of all his fiction, he stated, was "to establish a distinct and individual major character and pit him against a specific human problem and show how he rose to meet it."
and
At Oberlin College, Schaefer's concentration in Greek and Latin classics seemed to presage a future in esoteric scholarship. Significantly, he also studied creative writing, however. Having earned a bachelor of arts degree in 1929, he went onto graduate studies at Columbia University. There he specialized in eighteenth-century English literature-- unlikely fare indeed for the future author of Shane.
But Schaefer chafed at academia and dropped out and went into journalism (always a good preparation for a writer).
As a newspaper editor, he developed both a work ethic and a prose style that served him well when he turned to fiction. Spurred on by the high standards of the papers he worked for and by his own "Germanic zeal," he resolved "to try to write well, be literate and direct and concise, express firm conviction based on thorough research and honest reasoning and supported by sound arguments."
Concerning the gestation of Shane he says:
In 1945, while Schaefer was on the editorial staff of the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot, he began to write fiction in the evenings for relaxation. A story entitled "Rider from Nowhere" was published serially in the popular adventure magazine Argosy that year, and four years later a revised and expanded version was published in hardcover, by Houghton Mifflin, as Shane. In view of the modest origins of this first work, its subsequent success is all the more remarkable. The novel has sold well over six million copies, exceeding eighty editions in some thirty languages. It remains a perennial seller.
He then makes this beautiful remark which expands on my POV comment (ah yes, a real critic):
The opening lines of Shane exhibit the directness and clarity of Schaefer's mature style. . . . Observe that Schaefer begins with the narrator's adult perspective, but quickly shifts to the man's vivid recollection of himself as a boy, at a specific moment in the past. By this device, the boy's thoughts and feelings are brought close to the surface, while the man he would become is telling the tale. The special poignancy of Shane derives, in large part, from this dual perspective.
Later he adds "The theme Schaefer has begun to delineate in these opening paragraphs is one to which he will return in later tales: the formative influence a heroic figure has upon the young."
He makes the claim that "The plot of Shane is a simple one." He describes Shane as "a virtuous gunfighter who is attempting to begin a new life." That also stopped me dead in my tracks. Is there really any evidence of that last assertion? I think that’s coming from the same place as the "ashamed" comments, which, like I said, more about later.
He continues with something that is easy to agree with, "it is Bob's unwavering love and admiration for Shane (and Shane's tender feeling for him) that is the heart of the story . . ."
In further discussion he makes the following two remarkable statements:
Shane is mistakenly marketed as "young adult" fiction by its paperback publisher. It is also widely taught on the junior high school level.
I would think that if it is "widely taught" then it is not "mistakenly marketed". But he wants to make this point:
But Schaefer did not intend the novel primarily for adolescents--it is an adult novel, and is most fully appreciated by those who bring to it a deeper experience of life.
Which sort of goes back to my earlier comments on the YA genre not existing in 1949. And, of course, the final observation is a tautology. That’s what it means to have a deeper experience of life, having the ability to fully appreciate things. Not to mention, how do you go about developing that experience. Isn’t reading meaningful novels and discussing them with peers part of that? Does he really have to be so huffy about it being "an adult novel"? Can’t it be both?
In the final section he tries to stake out Schaefer’s claim to literary credibility. Here are some quotes:
Comparative studies of Schaefer's work with that of major American literary figures would be illuminating, and a necessary step in establishing his reputation. His fiction could profitably be measured against John Steinbeck's, for example.
[snip]
Schaefer's work could also be compared to that of his acclaimed contemporary Ernest Hemingway, whose Old Man and the Sea, for example, immediately brings to mind Old Ramon, Schaefer's tale of a wise and venerable shepherd and a young boy.
Finally, Schaefer's Company of Cowards invites comparison with Stephen Crane's classic Red Badge of Courage. Both short novels have the Civil War as their background and deal with the issue of cowardice, but Schaefer's is the superior work in every respect, not least in style. Crane's work, for all its historical significance as an early naturalist novel, is marred, among other things, by stilted prose. Moreover, the disparity between the two novels in psychological insight--and thus in dramatic intensity--is considerable.
Let me finally move on to the second real critic and the long delayed discussion of "shame" and Shane’s past. This piece is called "A Salute to Shane" by Marc Simmons a "long-time friend and neighbor to Jack Shaefer" who "wrote the Foreword to the critical edition of Shane." Again, this is a fine piece worth reading.
First some quotes:
While the symbolism in Shane readily lends itself to interpretation in moralistic terms, the book contains an even stronger underlying theme--the one that gives it universality. This theme is also a timeless one--that of man's search for himself, of his efforts to tap his latent potentialities, and of his struggle to establish mastery over the chaotic forces of instinct and the unconscious that threaten him with personal disintegration.
[snip]
The thesis of the book, then, expresses belief in the essential worth of the individual and in the necessity for his separation spiritually from the mass, the only process that allows attainment of personal autonomy.
[snip]
When Bob gets a glimmer of what Shane is and represents, it awakens him to the possibility that man can become what he ought to be. At that moment of perception, Shane "was no longer a stranger. He was a man like father in whom a boy could believe in the simple knowledge that what was beyond comprehension was still clean and solid and right."
This is the meaning of the heroic exemplar to youth or to anyone else who cares to learn.
[snip]
Shane's difficulty, and it ultimately proves to be his tragic flaw, is that only under the shadow of violence can he trigger a surge of psychic energy that brings about total integration of his personality and results in the "wholeness" for which all humans unconsciously strive.
[snip]
In the end Shane's personal conflict remains unresolved. After defeating the rancher Fletcher and his hired gun, he tells Bob that he must ride on. Of course, this is a fine stylistic touch and one that the book requires. But in his final speech, Shane gives the actual reason that compels his departure. "A man is what he is, Bob, and there's no breaking the mold. I tried that and I've lost." In a sense it is a capitulation, at least for the moment--an admission that he needs the stimulus of violence to reach the higher levels of human consciousness. This dénouement might suggest to the unwary that the mountain peak, which the hero unsuccessfully sought to scale, was in fact unassailable. But such a conclusion would be misleading, as it obscures the authentic message of this novel: that the trail to the top, win or lose, is well worth essaying
I have to admit that the last paragraph was hard for me to read. I just didn’t want to agree with the conclusion that Shane had a flaw and failed at something. But geez, the guy was Shaefer’s friend and neighbor. And the bottom line is, how else can you interpret the words "I tried that and I’ve lost."?
Clearly, when we interpret something we project our own psychological issues onto the work of art. Maybe I’m identifying Shane with some idealized vision I have based on the old Kung Fu television show. How can I be right and everyone else be wrong?
My take on Shane is that he always knew exactly what he was doing and what the consequences were. He was not trying to change his life when he agreed to work on the farm. If the previous hand had not been chased off I don’t think Shane would have stayed. That’s a key point.
But, as soon as Shane makes the decision to stay, he knows exactly where it is going to lead and how it is going to turn out and what his part will be. I doubt if there is anything anyone can say that would convince me otherwise.
Much is made in the pieces I’ve cited about Shane brooding on his past. This is where the "shame" comments come from. The thing that Simmons gets right is his comment about "the necessity for [the individual’s] separation spiritually from the mass."
Let me provide another possibility for the lonely brooding. In the book MindHunter, former FBI agent John Douglas recounts his years studying the psychological profiles of serial killers and how that led to their capture. But he also discusses the toll it had on him emotionally. His all too intimate knowledge of the workings of evil in the world scarred him and set him off from the rest of us, even though he was quite successful in combating this evil.
I think the major point that no one is mentioning and that I missed until getting deeper into it, is that everyone in the novel, not just the boy Bob, who comes into contact with Shane changes for the better (the ones who can’t change die). It is only Shane who stays the same and rides out the same way he rode in.
Joe learns his worth in the community, Marian comes into her own as a strong woman, Chris learns how to be a mentor to Bob, the other farmers learn the importance of working together, the saloon owner realizes the importance of taking sides and not being neutral. The whole town is turned into a model for community and collaborative effort. And all this comes about through the town’s contact with Shane.
If all these wonderful things come about as a result of Shane’s killing Wilson and Fletcher, two clearly evil men, why should he be ashamed of that?
And why does Shane leave? Because if he didn’t, the emphasis would be on him rather than Joe. Why does he say what he does to Bob at the end? Because he doesn’t want Bob to become a gunfighter, he knows that’s not what Bob’s meant to be.
Also, when Shane says, "I tried that and I've lost," we don’t really know what he is referring to. Simmons assumes it was working on Joe’s farm. But it could just as easily be something long ago we, like everyone else, know nothing about.
In Torres’ essay, when discussing the connection between Shane and Bob, he gives this quote: "Shane knew what would please a boy." But, when you think about it, Shane knew what everyone needed so that they could grow spiritually, and he provided it.
I keep trying to see if Shane is a Christ figure in this regard, but somehow, the details of the story just don’t seem to lend themselves to this interpretation for me. I guess the bottom line is that he doesn’t die, (or at least I don’t think he does, the ending is a bit ambiguous in that regard), and that makes it different.
As a genre, the book seems to fit more into the category of hagiographies of saints, books meant to inspire us through the example of a well led life. The combination of Warrior and Mentor mentioned above would lend credence to that suggestion. But to describe Shane as hagiography is probably faint praise given the status of the genre, I would imagine it’s below YA even.
I believe that what makes the book Shane powerful is our deep intuition that we are all spiritually affected for the better when loved, and Spiritual Love (agape) is what the character Shane gives to everyone he meets. The problem is that Shane lives intimately in a violent world and has to deal with that.
I always liked the prayer "I pray only for the knowledge of God’s will for me and the power to carry it out." Yes, the power to carry it out. Shane has that. And I don’t think he is confused about God’s will for him. That is the message I insist on. I’m sorry, I just can’t accept the anodyne "the trail to the top, win or lose, is well worth essaying," even if the guy was Schaefer’s neighbor. Call me hard-headed.
But, more likely, I have also been swayed by my exposure to the example put forward by a different type of warrior. Someone who actually represents a sustaining reality (as opposed to a sustaining myth) on which to grow. The link for my sig ""Can You Say . . . Hero?" leads to an article from Esquire magazine about Fred Rogers.
It is one of the best pieces of journalism I have ever read and is guaranteed to make you cry. It is long, so you may want to print it out and read it at your leisure, but it is definitely worth it. It has certainly inspired me.
Thanks for the opportunity to say all of this. It has really lifted my spirit. As Fred Rogers would say, cfk, that’s a wonderful ministry you have.