Wow. The shock and awe factor was high in this last section of Fowles. What exactly happened? I still am not totally sure that I comprehend it, but I do know that the writing was by far one of the more magnificent pieces I have read in a very long time.

The first topic that comes to mind, as I flip through and glance over my incessant highlighting, the disappearance of god; one of our reoccurring themes we might say. The passage from chapter 48 I believe, does the best job of describing the dilemma we discuss almost every day:

“Deep in his heart Charles did not wish to be an agnostic. Because he had never needed faith, he had quite happily learned to do without it; and his reason, his knowledge of Lyell and Darwin, had told him he was right to do without its Dogma. But here he was, not weeping for Sarah, but for his own inability to speak with God. He knew, in that dark church, that the wires were down. No communication was possible.” (48)

Is Charles truly at that point? No communication possible- all wires down? Is society at this point? The pressing questions that filled my mind when I first read those words are still unanswered, but I do believe that finishing this novel gave me a deeper understanding of such. Lyell and Darwin had for a large point in time occupied any empty space within Charles and took the place of a God figure. Charles did not need god – and therefore to him god did not exist. (It is important to note how Fowles goes back and forth between capitalizing and not capitalizing God. In this section it is mostly capitalized, but at the end of the novel when he goes back to renouncing him, the word is no longer capitalized.) As his separation from Sarah lengthens, Charles somehow finds “god” again – “He knelt by his bed and prayed; and the substance of his prayer was that he would find her; if he searched for the rest of his life, he would find her.” (54) His faith is still not constricted to a dogma, but rather he believes what he wants and therefore creates a god to pray to but not necessarily have complete faith in. Fowles allows Charles this, but sticks to his original principle: “that there is no intervening god beyond whatever can be seen..” (61)

That brings me to my second point, faith. Charles clearly suffers from a lack of self confidence. He defines his relationships based on what the moment, but falters in almost every decision he makes. With Sarah it is full of ups and downs, perhaps because of how he views her: “You are both so close and yet a stranger. I know not how to phrase what I really feel.” (49) Ernestina frustrates me beyond reason (which is why I want to boycott “Victorian day”). Her ability to find comfort in Charles is incredibly disconcerting: “But under your love and protection…and your education…I believed that I should become better.” (50) She has this idea that everything will be just fine as long as she gets the picture perfect life. How utterly wrong can this be? I know, I know, she is just a victim of her times, therefore I shall spare a longer tangent. The one positive aspect I gained from her was the fact that while she played the innocent, shallow damsel, perhaps she had a bit of intellect, after all she wanted to give Charles, “Faith in yourself.” (50)

The last bit I would like to discuss revolves around Fowles himself. The way he dove into the script of this Victorian era is amazing and was the reason why I was able to relate to this novel. His perspectives on fiction was refreshing: “Fiction usually pretends to conform to the reality; the writer puts the conflicting wants in the ring and then describes the fight – but in fact fixes the fight, letting that want he himself favors win.” (55) Recently I had a discussion with a few friends about what it would be like to “be” an author, and we decided that none of us had what it takes. Maybe that wasn’t the problem, maybe it isn’t that we don’t have it, it is that we don’t understand what it takes. “Language is like shot silk; so much depends on the angle at which it is held.” (60) The art of words is still being taught to us, and I wish one day I could make my writing as beautiful as Fowles.