Before the Change

The Sixties era cover of this edition -- almost hallucinogenic, right down to the antennae that seem to be protruding from the woman's head -- doesn't seem to reflect the storyline, which is set in 1915 or thereabouts. James Agee's A Death in the Family has an old-timey feel, and whether it's distinctly from the 50's (when it was published) or earlier is a little difficult to determine. References to a "Tin Lizzie" automobile, the need for operator assistance when making a phone call, and the clear delineation between appropriate roles for men and women in the face of family tragedy are all signposts from the past.

That said, the circumstances are universal. A father, Jay, is called to his father's bedside in the middle of the night and as he's returning home, dies in a car crash. Jay's wife and two children are left to cope, with the help of their relatives. The novel's action covers the short time between Jay's departure and his funeral, but packs a multitude of experiences into those few days.   

Much of the focus is on Jay's son Rufus, six years old, and overwhelmingly reflects Rufus's confusion, both at the events surrounding his father's death and at life in general. Poor Rufus is always bewildered, always one step behind, struggling to understand. Adult life swirls around him and he often asks questions, or he's aware that he should not ask any questions and is lost in his own jumbled thoughts. His interactions with his peers are no better -- his clumsy attempts to get along with his little sister and his desire for friendship and acceptance among the boys of his neighborhood are frequently unsuccessful. Rufus is a sensitive, thoughtful child and that is no help to him in navigating his childhood. It may even be a handicap. It's heartbreaking to think that this reflects Agee's own experience as a six-year-old when his father died. 

The metamorphosis theme suggested by the cover is not the focus of the book, either. Rufus's mother, Mary, takes only the first tentative steps toward a greater independence. Her family was not happy with Jay as her chosen husband. There are hints of alcohol and marital problems, and Mary is so painfully eager to please Jay that it's difficult to tell whether that's meant to be a depiction of domination or simply her normal acceptance of her feminine role in that time. Mary's agony is palpable as she waits for the man of the household (her brother, since her husband is the victim) to return with news of Jay's fate. She learns to bear up under the burdens of grief, but her profession of religious belief is not presented as the ultimate answer. Her own father, an atheist, punctures some of the comfort religion offers Mary, and Agee's depiction of the preacher chosen for the funeral is chilling and creepy. Mary may become a butterfly, freed by her husband's death, but it seems more likely that she will seek shelter in the hierarchy of religion, not the freedom and independence suggested by the butterfly.

Alternatively, a butterfly that visits the casket flowers at the graveside and stays on them all the way to the bottom of the grave features prominently in the final scene of the novel, offering a different view of resurrection and spirituality than that offered by conventional religion. It may be that the cover image shows Jay's soul -- or God's love -- comforting Mary and the children, who are in a customary madonna-and-child pose. That interpretation makes more sense than a Mary-as-butterfly view, and Agee's work is subtle enough to leave those questions open to different conclusions.    

This novel was left unfinished when Agee died and the editors have spliced it together with some sections which he had written but not yet inserted. These sections are printed in italics, and do not detract from the novel, although they are outside the plotline and function as memories. Agee's remarkable powers of observation transport the reader into these memories thoroughly. They were some of my favorite sections. The loss and confusion that come from death make these sections all the more poignant: Agee conveys a beautiful sense of the orderliness of suburban life, peaceful and settled. It is lovely to fall into them and feel that all's right with the world, at least for us, at least for a little while. 

Excerpt:

On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother have spread quilts. We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt, and I too am lying there. First we were sitting up, then one of us lay down, and then we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides, or on our backs, and they have kept on talking. They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all. The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of great sweetness, and they seem very near. All my people are larger bodies than mine, quiet, with voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at home. One is my mother who is good to me. One is my father who is good to me. By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of night.       

Note: This book counts toward the Color Coded Reading Challenge and the Mount TBR Reading Challenge.