A Clear Mind
He came to her house, and they played with her little daughter. She was a little hyper, and seemed excited at the sight of the stranger. When the little girl fell asleep, the man came to her bed, and kissed her passionately. She liked him a lot. He worshiped her, and wanted no one else. She felt the fire, but didn’t return his kisses for she had a husband. They lay down together and she stroked the fuzz on his chest.
‘‘I don’t mind if you love other girls.”
He didn’t believe her. “I love only you, I can’t love anyone but you.”
“Why love one, if you can love many? “
He didn’t say.
“Commitment indicates insecurity. I accepted my imperfections long ago “
Or maybe because I have many suitors, she thought to herself.
He asked: “If I fulfill you, why would you graze in foreign pastures?
“It’s the need to explore the uniqueness of each individual, and to experiment until you exhaust his or her founts. The need to intensify.”
“Love is selfish,” she concluded, “It is you who loves. It is you who you love.”
She didn’t like his mental nakedness. The frailty of human nature dumbfounded her. I also have weaknesses, she thought to herself. What is it that repulses me? He brought her a cigar; she lit it, and watched it being consumed in front of her eyes.
At some point, when things heated up, she sent him away, for she had a husband. “I will hate myself if I will bed you,” she said.
After he left, an acquaintance, a stranger to her soul, came by. Just for a tea, and one smoke, he said. It was snowy outside, and she invited him to cuddle on the couch. They spoke about God.
“I believe in love that generates pleasure”, he said.
“I believe in the independence of the mind; the independence of emotions”, she responded.
In order to be a real man you need to be a good manipulator, she thought to herself, and she let him kiss her.
She lied, by telling herself she too likes to manipulate, and be manipulated. She kissed him back, and made love to him, although there was no fire. When his manhood burglarized her complexity, emptiness took her over. Gravity pulled her towards the world of infinite darkness, and she didn’t feel his kisses anymore. She didn’t know when he kissed her goodbye and left her. Naked.
She was apathetic when she opened her eyes.
I shatter my own values, she thought. What do I punish myself for?
She lit the fireplace, and took a shot of whisky. Her daughter cried from her sleep. She remembered that she didn’t say kriyas sh’ma, but she didn’t care. She hugged her to her bosom, and whispered, “Father will be here soon. We must shut our hearts and stop crying.”
No need to rethink or analyze, she thought, while waiting for her husband to return home. It’s all about the stories I tell myself. I can remember it differently tomorrow.
Her husband was on a business trip, to manage a few properties, and it was late at night when he finally returned home. He found her in bed, cuddled up like a baby; he wrapped his arms around her body and told her he missed her. She groaned in return.
“My friends ask me how come I trust you, and leave you on your own while I’m away”, he told her.
She held her breath.
“I told them that I just know my lady”.
His words took her to a different dimension, her vision now clearer, unfogged . The intricacy of her circumstances unwound. She felt at peace, and closed her eyes.
Printable Version
Yefas, this is deep shit.
I don’t think love is selfish though. True love is toxic. It’s an evolutionary miss-firing where only those who don’t fall in its trap, survive.
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At least you admit it’s deep.
“I don’t think love is selfish though.” -You have to back up your statement.
This novella was indeed written in search for the definition of love and manipulation. However, “True love is toxic” is a very quixotic description of love; all in all, it doesn’t contradict what I said in the above.
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Great peace! Very emotional. I believe, love is selfish sometimes, and true love isn’t toxic.
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Wow, what a writer!
“What do I punish myself for?” The question without an answer.
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The main protaganist here has great foundation in her philosphical theory about love.
Although the peace is limited to an exploration of Romantic/Sexual Love. I think the binding phrase “I believe in the independence of the mind; the independence of emotions” could be explored further in more more entangled,juxtaposing, and coexisting conditions.
I would like to see how this seemingly theological rephrase on Love will evolve or develop as it stands to different forces,people, or places.
Your piece is a psychological exploration into feminine identity under duress and definition. I’d like to see this become a column supplemented by such anecdotes.
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What a bunch of craptastic psychobabble. Both in the piece itself and the patronizing comments that followed. Instead of called it ‘deep shit’, please let’s do the writer a favor and call it what it is. Shit indeed. And she stepped in deep.
I don’t believe that misstep occurred recently. As a matter of fact, the protagonist in this piece appears to have been irrevocably damaged from the get go, as is evident by her ability to so callously extricate sex from intimacy. (And I’m not talking about the big and indefinable ‘L’ word, at the moment.)
Yet indeed – her greatest fallacy of all is her inability to perceive love. Perhaps the greater mistake is to assume that she has any understanding of the topic. The very ‘complex’ idea that to love is purely to love of oneself, is the irony of all ironies. And it just magnifies this woman’s juvenile and underdeveloped emotional state.
She struggles to rationalize and quantify her emotions, but is unsuccessful because there is no real explanation. She is doing the very things that logic dictates she doesn’t. She’s playing her emotions against that which she already knows to be right.
She attempts to avoid baring her soul, because that might be too painful, yet she bares her body – and is surprised to find herself surprised that the pain caught up with her just the same.
Some people repeatedly amaze me with their ability to use liberalism as an excuse for their emotional immaturity. The hypocrisy doesn’t seem to bother them. If the moment ‘feels good’, then repercussions be damned. Particularly striking in the end, where she lies in her husband’s arms, and “The intricacy of her circumstances unwound. She felt at peace, and closed her eyes.” Oh, God.
If this isn’t indicative of a poor underdeveloped and damaged soul, I don’t know what is.
I feel for her. Really.
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“Independence of the mind”?
As in the liberally ‘open-minded’ 60s perception of ‘making love’? No rules, just freedom of expression without acknowledging the consequences? This assumption that we can indeed feel and make love – when inevitably people are getting hurt in the process… the incongruity is blinding. (But then much of the liberal mentality is.)
Indeed this kind of love is selfish and immature. and not love at all.
There I go immediately hopping over to her quest for “Independence of emotion” and realizing that it ties in. But that isn’t the only reason it is not independent. The thing is, emotions cannot be independent, because by their very nature they do no shut off and disconnect upon request.
And they sure can baffle. And defy logic. And yet at times they might seem to make ‘sense’. Particularly when we analyze our own experience and assume we see a pattern. Or at least a psychological explanation. But to try to figure out what love is, when you only have your own experience – and your interpretation of love is just about those times that you felt that high, momentary infatuation or even intense attraction – then it is akin to the four blind guys who were describing the elephant by what they felt.
Hence my initial (albeit sanctimonious sounding) comment. I don’t appreciate this ‘novella’ being perceived as the ‘female perspective’. It is but one. (and a damaged one at that.)
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TC, though I agree with a number of your points, you come across as incredibly bitter and jealous.
I don’t wonder why.
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I do so love those cryptic responses that imply that the writer knows of what he’s saying.
If you wish to say something – please do.
I do wonder though why anyone would ever choose to be jealous of a woman who is so obviously messed up – and in pain. To imply that the comment was anything more than disgust is to futilely attempt to make me out to be emotionally lacking. Don’t blame ya. Gotta support your own, even when they don’t make sense. That sure seems to be the ‘theme’ of Unpious.
But I do think that anyone with half an (unbiased) brain, realizes the truth.
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This was painful to read. I even found the name painful. She is chopped up in the end, and a concubine.
IN this story it’s pretty clear she doesn’t fully have ownership of her body, and she riskes the same sort of chopping up. I question why she does this to herself (and I guess sometimes feeling much like her, why myself too)
I often want to understand how do you liberate yourself from that sort of unclear ownership into full possession of the body. It’s almost like she wants the men to mirror her (Lacanian style) tell her who she is, because hrer sense of self has been stricken, even though she knows underneath there is a truth (why else mention that only real men manipulate?)
Is there something outside- in love- when two people find each other- beyond manipulation- that lends individuals strength as they form bonds?
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I think you were never taught how to read literature. You are placing yourself too clearly in the text and placing a value judgement on the text and its characters. In fact, we don’t have a clear understanding of the characters, we’re given minimal detail and told to figure it out.
What exactly is the main charachter’s conception of love- it’s pretty clear that this woman is married, that she believes there is strength in manipulation, that maybe she is scared of love (she turns down someone who may love her, but we don’t think she loves him back, she likes him), she believes in shutting her heart, and that she feels much more sure when her husband is around (but of what circumstances?- we are never told, the sex, the fact that her husband travels, her loneliness, her child?) Why will she hate herself if she sleeps with a man she likes?
You could develop a whole thesis around this…
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What makes you more unbiased than me or any other commentator?
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Shana,
An ill-defined sense of self doesn’t make one an expert on ‘love’ – or on the dynamics of a relationship.
Indeed this hints to her never having fully developed emotionally – making her that much less of an authority on the very subject she chose to expound.
Thanks for making my point.
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TC, thou does protest too much.
And again, I don’t wonder why.
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Anonymous writer,
I feel you are not critiquing this piece rather having a verbal affront on the author. This is not very conducive to the nature of this platform. Reconsider why you post, and if the reasons turn out similar. Don’t do so again.
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Literary creations have the property of being projective. Art is not supposed to relay a single unified message. True fiction has the quality of showing whatever the viewer desires to see.
Your comments reflect on your experiences only.
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Explain to me how I made your point. I don’t understand how I did. I just pointed out we cannot be sure of the author’s motive, the main character’s motives, and we are not totally sure of the surrounding situation, as this is flash fiction. I never claimed that any of these people had expertise- just that we are pointed in a direction about the state of the human condition through the examination of art. From which we can learn many pieces about the general states of the human condition if we study art. I do not have a value judgement on the piece. You happen to.
I’m choosing to read this through a Lacanian lens. I think it works because of our lack of knowledge. You can choose to disagree with me: However I would like to see a rigorous answer as to why.
Unless of course, you happen to disagree with what Soutine did with his life.
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TC is definitely reading too much into it.
It’s a beautiful story, the writer clearly has no agenda, and you butcher a piece of art by ascribing political motivations to what is clearly a personal experience.
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TC — The biggest mistake you’re making is confusing the writer with the protagonist. Your visceral reaction to it vindicates it as a piece of art that makes you think and elicits strong emotions — both positive and negative.
The writer may or may not have intended to provoke you precisely in the way that she has. Call the protagonist “emotionally immature” with an “inability to perceive love” (whatever that means) if you like. But even if all you say is true about the protagonist, it still says something true and necessary about the complexity of human emotions and, indeed, our varied perceptions of love and how we use it for our own needs.
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Thanks for the marvelous piece, Isha.
I think this piece is meant to examine the seemingly oxymoronic state of human relationships through the perspective of the woman.
The protagonist has four idiosyncratic relationships, personified in the four characters being portrayed in the story. Each relationship has its positives, but in essence they are all lacking. The suggestion that emanates from the piece is profound and should be considered. The writer seems to be relating that, although interpersonal relationships can be fulfilling at times, one personality cannot encompass all the desirable traits, hence true love as well as complete devotion and commitment is a myth.
The perfect relationship would be one where there is: admiration, devotion, commitment, security, serenity, physical and psychological attraction, manipulation, mysteriousness, disclosure, relatedness, excitement, novelty…….the list goes on and on; It’s impossible to mention all the characteristics of the perfect relationship. The tragedy of being human is that it’s impossible for one person to exhibit all of the desirable attributes. Some of them are even contradictory and can only be held by different individuals.
In the story we meet the lover, the strange friend, the daughter, and the husband. There seems to be a unique relationship between the protagonist and each of the four individuals. She seems to admire the lover, but can’t get intimate with him. The definition of a lover is complete nakedness of mind and body. Complete disclosure can be attractive, but on the other hand people like to be mystified. People like to believe in myths. They want to be enthralled by something that seems powerful and loftier then their banal existence. People are repulsed when they realize that what they worship and admire is not very dissimilar to them; people want to worship a grand idea or an omnipotent being. When the protagonist realizes that the lover has similar shortcomings to her, shortcomings that renders him human just like her, she is disgusted by him. On the other hand the strange friend seems to behold the very imperfections that lover seems to lack, but it’s still not sufficed.
The stranger has the desirable features of being aloof, distant, manipulative, and mysterious. He is also open in his way, and gets right down to business. The protagonist descends into intimacy with him, but there is no fire. She doesn’t feel him. Amazingly the same exact character that mystified her also makes her feel burglarized. Manipulation is admirable and attractive, but sequentially the protagonist feels fooled and exploited. “She doesn’t feel his kisses anymore and is left naked.” The complexity and the discrepancy of relationships are portrayed. The protagonist can’t admire the lover for his nakedness of mind before her eyes, yet she feels undressed and naked before the stranger.
The relationship between the protagonist and her child is not fully explored in the story, but one can assume from the little information that is given that the protagonist is completely devoted to her daughter. She waits for her daughter to fall asleep before she lets the lover come to her bed. She hugs and clenches her daughter in her sleep. The protagonist seems to see in her baby daughter a sort of ally. She seems to pity her for her future struggles that she is dealing with now. She confides in her and finds some peace and comfort in her existence.
The irony of ironies is that in the husband the protagonist finds solace. It’s quite clear from the progress of the story that she is not in love with her husband. When he hugs her and tells her that he missed her, she groans. It could be that the husband symbolizes what the other relationships lack, and ultimately what he presents puts her at peace. The husband seems to provide financial and emotional security. He works late at night to provide for his family. In the pureness of his heart he unwittingly trusts her. He is uncomplicated, unlike the lover and the stranger; hence he can provide a proper sense of calmness and serenity. Ultimately though, it’s not enough. Although the husband provides some of the desirable traits, the protagonist yearns for more, and she will keep on searching for the perfect combination that she will never find.
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” The writer seems to be relating that, although interpersonal relationships can be fulfilling at times, one personality cannot encompass all the desirable traits, hence true love as well as complete devotion and commitment is a myth” .
R and C,
Help me understand what you are saying, please.
True love is a myth because the perfect lover doesn’t exist?
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Exactly.
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Its not that the perfect lover doesnt exist. Rather, the perfect conditions for love to flourish doesnt exist, because of all the contradicting motifs that is required for complete infatuation with no limitations.
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I hear you, but I don’t think your hypothesis works. Love is not an absolute scientific construct, rather, it is totally phenomenological in nature.
There is no perfection in this world, period. Does that imply that my experiances of love, hate, fun, joy, anger, sadness and so on, aren’t real or true?
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First- it’s not my hypothesis, its only my interpretation of what the writer might be alluring to.
Second- true love is not a scientific phenomenon. Love has never been observed or tested in a lab. “There is no perfection in this world” that’s true too. I think that there is a possibility for love, but there has to be significant sacrifices. The perfect conditions for love don’t exist, but people can overcome the imperfections by choosing some of the desired traits while abandoning the others.
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Finally. We’re on the same page.
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She needs to be spanked by the guy from the Faking It: (“O’ God”) piece. I think we may have a shidduch here.
Great stuff!
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