English 015 - Americans Abroad
The Wrong Outlook
The Wrong Outlook
Category: 4E: O'Brien | Zac Milner
Tim O’Brien’s Going After Cacciato and Paul Bowles’s The Sheltering Sky present two opposite characters coping with the effects of war. The difference between Paul Berlin in O’Brien’s novel and Port in Bowles’s can be seen in their responses to war. Port’s “war stories” reflect the idea that “one never knows what a person is made of until the moment of stress;” (Bowles, p. 196) Paul Berlin’s “bravest moment,” (O’Brien, p.62) of the war, does not occur in battle, but rather when he leaves his designated observation post in the peaceful night to wade in the ocean. Port is a leader by nature, whose selfish view of humanity gives him an everyman-for-himself mentality; Paul is a timid tagalong whose life is built around reliance upon family and military. Although their views on life are divergent, neither outlook is beneficial for its respective character. Port’s aloofness and Paul’s reliance on others are consistent character traits, and ultimately these perceptions on life prevent Port and Paul from finding true happiness.
In The Sheltering Sky, despite spending his whole life traveling with Kit, Port is a loner by nature. In a conversation with Kit and Tunner, Port projects his view on human relationships: “who is humanity? I’ll tell you. Humanity is everyone but one’s self…you’re never humanity, you’re only your own poor hopelessly isolated self” (p. 95). Port has lost faith in people, and does not regard them highly; he often places himself on a pedestal above others, such as when he first meets the Lyles, the narrator says he “watched, fascinated as always by the sight of a human being brought down to the importance of an automation or a caricature…such persons delighted him” (p.54). Port also makes judgments on foreign strangers, noting of the Arabs that “what little energy they have is only the blind, mass desire to live” (p. 22).
Port encounters many strangers throughout the novel, for he is a lifelong traveler with no true home. Port’s homelessness does not simply entail the lack of a physical residence; it has to do with his lack of connection to any grounded person. The only person Port has a true bond with—his wife—is traveling alongside him.
Even with Kit’s powerful presence, Port enjoys being by himself. He ventures out alone at nighttime, and despite sharing an intimate moment with Kit on a rock, he has a desire to “return without her” (p. 103). According to Port, “[his] world’s not humanity’s world. It’s the world as [he] sees it” (p. 95). Although he is constantly thinking about Kit and even imagines that she is watching him when he is alone, (p. 40) Port cannot bring himself to acknowledge his need for her presence. Instead, he goes through life with the outlook of a loner.
Port’s aloofness is reinforced by his need to control his own destiny; he does not like others telling him what to do. The narrator mentions early on the novel that Port has an obsession with maps, saying “he had only to see a map to begin studying it passionately, and then… he would begin to plan some new, impossible trip which sometimes eventually became a reality” (p.13). Port likes the idea of carving his own path and not being tied down to any one person or place. Later in the story, Port’s vision of a perfect woman is, ironically, a blind lady, and a large part of his love for her comes from his desire to be in total control: “without eyes to see beyond the bed, she would have been completely there, a prisoner” (p.140). Port’s need to control his own life and the lives of others shows his selfishness, and reflects the idea that he is separate from humanity.
In Going After Cacciato, Paul Berlin holds a view of humanity opposite to Port’s. Paul Berlin is naturally a follower, and he can never abandon his connection to family and military duty. The narrator makes a habit of showing Paul’s reliance on others, with countless references to Paul’s relationship with his father. During his first few days in service, Paul relates the war training to a boy scout trip; on the third day of that trip, Paul got separated from his father and not being able to find his way back on his own, was left “lost, bawling in the big Wisconsin woods” (p. 41). If Port is the definition of a true traveler, a man who has no home at all, Paul Berlin is the exact opposite: he is totally lost away from home.
Paul is terrified of making his own path, of choosing his own way in life. Paul likes to think of his tangible war memories not in terms of personal experience, but rather as “a slide show: lights out in the living room, mom and dad in their chairs. Let the pictures begin.” (p. 152). Paul’s ideal situation would be at home with his family, following in the father’s footsteps as a house builder.
With his military squad—Paul’s family in the absence of his true family—the same pattern of following exists: Paul is constantly depicted by the narrator as being last among the men. On military marches, Paul is always “at the rear of the column” (p. 162). When the squad votes on certain issues, such as whether or not to continue going after Cacciato, (p. 35) Paul is the last man to cast a vote. And, when the group ventures off to make a phone call to home, (p.157) Paul is the last to make his call. All these instances of being last in line—some of which are even fabricated in Paul’s mind—show that he is naturally a follower, and unlike Port, must rely on others.
Paul’s constant need to be attached to others is reflected in his view of humanity, expressed explicitly towards the end of the book. As part of his imaginary story, Paul has to choose between fleeing with Sarkin Aung Wan, and staying with his squadron. Ultimately, Paul chooses the latter because he is “obligated” and “obligation is more than a claim imposed on [him]; it is a personal sense of indebtedness” (p. 319). Paul feels that his “tacit promises: to [his] family, [his] friends, [his] town, [his] country, [his] fellow soldiers,” (p.319) override any personal desire to be happy. Paul can never do anything for himself, can never lead his own life, because of “the threat of social consequences;” (p. 320) he is merely an extension of his obligations to other people. Unlike Port, Paul would believe that humanity is everybody, and that there is no such thing as an “isolated self.”
Because Paul always sticks to tangible, rigid notions of obligation, his imaginary story ends in disaster. Feeling a sense of duty to his men and to his family, Paul cannot follow though with his dream and escape with Sarkin. In truth, Sarkin does not exist; she represents a part of Paul’s mind that is trying to lead him away from the war: as she says to Paul, “having dreamed a marvelous dream I urge you to step boldly into it, to join your dream and live it…you are obligated…to pursue only the felicity that you yourself have imagined” (p.318).
Sarkin is correct about the source of Paul’s felicity. From the very beginning of his time in Paris, Paul is happiest there. When the squad arrives in Paris, Paul “is the first to step down [from the train],” (p. 292) a remarkable break from his constant role of being relegated to last-in-line. Paul is most confident in Paris, speaks of being “in love,” and even ventures out to explore the city on his own (p. 294).
Although Paul is happiest in Paris, his view of humanity in which he is obligated to others takes this pleasant vision away. Sarkin pleads for Paul to forget about his duties as a soldier and to become fully immersed in a life with her. Paul refuses to do so for fear of social consequence, and regarding his “felicity,” it is the wrong decision. Paul’s vision ends with him losing Sarkin forever, his fellow soldiers telling him that he is “a fuckup,” (p. 328) and ultimately in his being forced to attempt to kill Cacciato. If Paul would have abandoned his men in favor of Sarkin—that is, pursued his vision of deserting the war and breaking the ties to society that bind him—then maybe the dream would have ended more happily. But ultimately, Paul thinks of others instead of himself; his story which had so many possibilities ends in the worst possible scenario.
Due to Port’s view of humanity, his story also ends tragically. Port realizes that he has a “definite desire to strengthen the sentimental bonds between [him and Kit],” (p.105) and contemplates how he should go about telling her of this wish. Port knows that abandoning his aura of being a loner and attaching to Kit would make him much happier in life, but instead of telling Kit directly, he decides to let it happen on its own, subscribing to the unrealistic notion that “eventually everything would happen” (p. 133).
Instead, Port finds himself on the verge of death and knowing that he does not have much time, he finally admits “Kit! All these years I’ve been living for you. I didn’t know it, and now I do” (p. 217). By this time, it is too late. Port has lived out his last several years contrary to this aforementioned proclamation, and Kit’s mind has been shaped by Port’s worldly actions; she does not take these words seriously, but rather says to herself “he’s never lived for me. Never. Never” (p. 217). Because he spent his life isolating himself from others, Port cannot escape his position when he is dying. As is the case with Paul Berlin, Port’s outlook on humanity prohibits true pleasure.
At the final stage of both men’s stories, the fact that Paul and Port are traveling in a foreign country without passports reinforces their displacement in society. Because of their respective outlooks, neither character has discovered his true identity and both will forever be outsiders to humanity and, more importantly, to themselves.
Posted by on December 16, 2003 at 04:17 AM