“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” – Stephen King

http://www.pastarunmusic.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Russian-Lullaby-тили-тили-бом-with-english-translation.mp3

[Nota Bene: If at some point you find yourself wondering what this book is about, please visit your local library or bookstore, pick up the book, and read it. This is not a book summary and is intended to compel you to read the book, not to give you a regurgitated summary. Thank you, Ed.]

John Fowles’ novel, “The Collector” dissects the dangers of division of class and intellectualism in a society where wealth is so widespread that we find wealthy people who lack the intellect to handle such wealth. While true, this may be unfair to the book – which is, at its heart, a horror story. Thriving on a suspenseful first-person narrative, “The Collector” is one of the most compelling books you will ever read.

Well-versed in Ancient Greek literature, Fowles drew inspiration from the philosopher Heraclitus who described humanity divided into two groups: the moral and intellectual (or aristoi), and the many (or hoi polloi) who were an unthinking, conforming mass. Fowles explores this division in the most extreme of circumstances.

For me, “The Collector”, is about beauty: our infatuation with beauty, and our desires to force someone to fit into our personal mold of what their beauty should be. Much like the antagonistic Clegg, we often create our own ideal of an individual’s beauty, and are later crushed by the realization that they are not who we envision them to be. There is a desire to capture that ideal, and force someone into it.

We have all heard the axiom that beauty is only skin deep. But beauty is anything but skin deep, and maybe this is why we are often so shallow. Human skin is only .07 inches “deep”, and anyone with a basic understanding of beauty will tell you that there is much more than .07 inches of beauty in even the ugliest of creatures. We are often too narrow-minded to consider one’s true beauty from afar. This is what separates attraction from love. For example, you may find someone’s appearance, voice, or art to be the essence of beauty, but find their less desirous qualities to be a deal-breaker. Love allows us to look past this and see how the parts (good & bad) contribute to the whole. We are able to love someone for whom they are, mere attraction promotes a vision of love for who we envision someone to be: which may be better deemed obsession.

The Collector

In “The Collector” Frederic Clegg believes he is in love with Miranda. But this love was formed at a distance, in his imagination. Once they meet, her negative qualities do not fit within his ideal of her beauty, and he begins to resent her for this aberration. He views the qualities that make her who she is as violations of her beauty, rather than the essence of herself. He finds himself loving her, but hating who she is. In a moment of clairvoyance during her captivity, Miranda reflects, “I am one in a row of specimens. It’s when I try to flutter out of line that he hates me. I’m meant to be dead, pinned, always the same, always beautiful. He knows that part of my beauty is being alive, but it’s the dead me he wants. He wants me living-but-dead.”

But surely we are not as base as Frederic Clegg, the bumbling brute of a bug collector. We don’t cherish someone for the beauty we immediately see, while condemning them for lacking in conformity to our ideals. And so we have little to learn from this simple-minded, yet dreadful villain. And so on to Miranda.

Miranda

Miranda is an upper middle-class art student with her life figured out. Aided by Fowles’ sickening plot, Miranda’s unique situation forces her to learn about herself at an expedited pace. No one values life the same way after a brush with death, and no one values art the same way after being locked in a root cellar without sunlight for 3 months.

Just as Clegg learns about beauty from one angle, so too does Miranda. Contrary to her childish ideals, beauty in art does not come from cleverness. And beauty in art is relative: the most beautiful collections of art do nothing to fill her hollow void as she views them in her “guest room”. Beauty is based in truth, and there is no truth when your world is governed by a mad man.

If Miranda is a butterfly, Clegg is a spider: the collected and the collector, at odds. Clegg finds joy in his ability to capture and preserve beauty behind glass, constantly seeking aberrations – specimens that are uncommon, against nature. He overlooks the fact that the most significant aberration from nature is to try and capture it, to preserve its beauty in a static form. It is this sort of baseness that is truly horrifying. He is as convincing a monster as you will find in literature, partly because he finds no fault in his actions. He finds reason in his madness, and can he convince the reader that he is just a few decisions away from being a decent person.

Why am I reading this?

The first time you read it, “The Collector” will make you cringe. It is, at its heart, a horror story. But at second glance you’ll recognize that there is something else going on. Fowles’ is open both in is writing and commentary about the book that there are deeper themes on display. I could write a book about all of the issues that I am brought to think about while reading it. But it boils down to this: you are who you are.

Locked in a root cellar, disconnected from the world, Miranda can’t escape her upbringing. Despite her desire to escape her roots, they are all that she has to cling to, and to look back upon – they are who she is. Clegg is the same, haunted by the inadequacy of his past. He tries to escape his class but can only do so through a hatred of the other classes.

Furthermore, Miranda can never be what Clegg has envisioned – a specimen to caught and preserved. It is terrifying to read her dialogue as she comes to understand this. Nonetheless, as her solitude wears on her, Miranda begins to sympathize with Clegg, even recognizing a sickening intimacy between her and her captor. But these perceptions change nothing. Miranda is a living being, and Clegg is a monster. Their failure to acknowledge each other for who they truly, is the downfall for each character. Clegg, refusing to grant Miranda the freedom she needs to survive, kills her. Never has the saying, “if you love her, let her go,” been more valid. Miranda, refusing to recognize Clegg as the villain he is, fails to capitalize on the few chances she has for escape.

It is important to remember that we are all collectors. Whether it is a family member, a friend, or a public figure that we look up to and admire, we all attempt to collect them, in a sense. We build up ideals, static in nature, and then demand that a person conforms to them. When a childhood friend is no longer the same as you remember, you continue and try and force them into the image you hold dear. When a public figure acts against your constructed image, we are quick to condemn them. Our mania is not as horrific as the Collector portrayed by Fowles, but it is real, and we must remember that we cannot capture some one and force them into our desired image. It important to recognize people for who they are, and to accept who they are even if it doesn’t fit your ideal version of them. If you try and change them it could kill them, and it will drive you mad.