This story is so good that it's a little intimidating to try to write anything that even comes close to its complexity and depth, but I'll give it my best shot. Fathoms Five has a unique, risky structure, starting as it does with a brutally graphic depiction of what it is like to shoot yourself in the mouth, experience all of the pain, both physical and psychic, of that desperate act, but not die. The language in this section is clipped, to the point, and precise. Penumbra doesn't spare the audience. She doesn't make it pretty. She makes it feel real, and it hurts you just like it hurts Scully. Penumbra's portrait of Scully's state of mind seems dead on, if you'll excuse the terrible pun. In the midst of section one's grim description of gory death and bitter resurrection, there is an image that feels especially thematically resonant.
It was the ship she kept thinking of, trying to keep herself detached. It was the desolation of the miles and miles of ocean, and it was the emptiness of the ship, the dying ship, unpiloted, plunging on dead through the waters.
What a brilliant metaphor for the life Scully sees ahead for herself. Though gifted with everlasting life, Scully is dying spiritually and emotionally. She's in a kind of physical and psychic stasis that's made worse by the way she has withdrawn from the very things that make an ordinary life worth living. Her life now stretches endlessly before her and she feels adrift, shaken to her core by the certainty of what she had previously known but hadn't scientifically confirmed.
She's not alone in this, of course. I'm sure you all know someone who has lost a beloved family pet and refused to ever own another, to keep from grieving again. They want to try to shield themselves from life's inevitable losses, just as Scully does. It can't work. It doesn't work. All that happens is you rob yourself of the goodness life does offer.
"You tell me." William raised his Mulderish eyebrows, chewing. "You left your car in the road. I put it away for you."
"Everything's fine. We'll talk about it later," Scully said. She felt too exhausted to go on. She dispensed ice into a glass and poured lemonade over the crackling cubes. "Could you take this out to Dad, please?"
He took it from her hand, letting his warm fingers rest against hers, as if he could tell more about her that way.
"You know, I know you don't think we understand what it's like for you," he said. He put two cookies in his mouth at once.
"Will, please, not now," she said.
"But we're here, too, Mom," he said, chewing. "We're right here, right along side you. Think about it."
Scully gave him a bitter smile. That was the hardest thing to think about.
She's so focused on death that she is missing out on life.
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winterfish
Parting is all we know of heaven
Date: 2010-05-15 04:40 am (UTC)It was the ship she kept thinking of, trying to keep herself detached. It was the desolation of the miles and miles of ocean, and it was the emptiness of the ship, the dying ship, unpiloted, plunging on dead through the waters.
What a brilliant metaphor for the life Scully sees ahead for herself. Though gifted with everlasting life, Scully is dying spiritually and emotionally. She's in a kind of physical and psychic stasis that's made worse by the way she has withdrawn from the very things that make an ordinary life worth living. Her life now stretches endlessly before her and she feels adrift, shaken to her core by the certainty of what she had previously known but hadn't scientifically confirmed.
She's not alone in this, of course. I'm sure you all know someone who has lost a beloved family pet and refused to ever own another, to keep from grieving again. They want to try to shield themselves from life's inevitable losses, just as Scully does. It can't work. It doesn't work. All that happens is you rob yourself of the goodness life does offer.
"You tell me." William raised his Mulderish eyebrows, chewing. "You left your car in the road. I put it away for you."
"Everything's fine. We'll talk about it later," Scully said. She felt too exhausted to go on. She dispensed ice into a glass and poured lemonade over the crackling cubes. "Could you take this out to Dad, please?"
He took it from her hand, letting his warm fingers rest against hers, as if he could tell more about her that way.
"You know, I know you don't think we understand what it's like for you," he said. He put two cookies in his mouth at once.
"Will, please, not now," she said.
"But we're here, too, Mom," he said, chewing. "We're right here, right along side you. Think about it."
Scully gave him a bitter smile. That was the hardest thing to think about.
She's so focused on death that she is missing out on life.