Attachments

The first time Grant is introduced to his task, he seems – justifiably – a little put off. He spends at least half the book participating in the most determined “refusal of the call” I’ve ever read, again and again and again trying to find some way out of Miss Emma’s request. In class, we talked about how there are lots of reasons that might happen – he could be afraid of failing Miss Emma, afraid of facing his failure to Jefferson through the school system that put him there, unwilling to subject himself to the humiliation he faces every time he enters the building, and he might also be afraid of getting attached to Jefferson. It’s just a scary task in a lot of ways – how can Grant, in good faith, go into a jail cell with a boy about to die and try to form an emotional connection to him?

            Paul echoes that reluctance when we first meet him. Although Paul is clearly framed as the most decent of Jefferson’s jailers, he still doesn’t want to get attached. “Be decent, treat him right, but that’s all.” It’ll get messy, he says. He knows that. It’ll be messy and gruesome and heart-wrenching for all involved, so he doesn’t want to get involved. He wants to stay back, keep up a shield around his heart, and watch a boy die as dispassionately as he can.

            Now, when I first started reading As I Lay Dying, I didn’t particularly like it. I thought the premise was depressing, and I didn’t see why I would want to wade through pages and pages of Grant’s inevitable soul-searching as he spiraled toward a futile end – Jefferson was going to die, why bother writing so much about it?

However, I think I felt that way for pretty much the same reasons as Grant – I really didn’t want to get attached to the characters. I knew the premise was depressing, yes, but I also knew all of what Paul knew, that it would be messy, that it would hurt, that the people involved were going to end up crying. I didn’t want to get invested in the book. Like Grant, I told myself I didn’t like the book, I didn’t like my task, I wanted to run away as far as I could. But it wasn’t because I didn’t like the book, it was because I was afraid to get to invested. I was afraid to put my heart into a book I knew would have a messy end.

Sadly, this plan utterly failed, and I did in fact become attached to Jefferson’s character. I wanted Grant to succeed, I wanted Jefferson to smile and eat Miss Emma’s food and somehow, someway, for everything to turn out all right. And he still dies. 

I was right from the beginning, of course. He still ends up dead, no matter how noble Grant’s mission or how brave he was at the end. It’s still messy and heart-wrenching and mindlessly stupid, it just hurt me a little bit more, because I didn’t listen to my initial impulse that said: No. Stay away. Stay far away from this enfolding disaster. Grab Vivian and run as far away as you can get, before you get drawn too far in to this explosion.

If I had stayed neutral, the way Grant wanted to, the way Paul wanted to, the way we all failedto do, this story would have been what it is – pointless and depressing and cruel. I would have watched, dispassionately, as a tragedy unfolded, and then gone on. But for some reason, none of us could remain neutral in Jefferson’s last moments, and that changed the story. It’s still depressing, but it’s anything but pointless. Like Grant, we end up with tears on our face; like Paul, we struggle to breathe; we wish with all our hearts we had remained emotionless, hadn’t let ourselves hope; but nevertheless, we come away changed.

            The bystanders to Jefferson’s death, against their will, find themselves drawn into his narrative, and we, the readers, end up doing the same. And if you ask me why, I truly couldn’t give you an answer, because I don’t know. I wish quite firmly that I hadn’t been drawn into his story – it really was against my will that I started to care. I don’t know why. Honestly, please tell me.