One of the things that has been brought up often has been the format of Casey’s novel. Did she intentionally make it confusing in order to place us, as the readers, in Albert’s shoes? Does this add any effect or impact to the way we interpret the novel? We could make an attempt to answer these questions all day long and we will probably never come up with definitive answers.
One excerpt that convinced me of Casey intentionally formatting her novel this way was when Albert got to his room in the hospital.
“The room is beautiful in its simplicity- a table and a bed and a chair , and laid over the chair a fresh set of trousers, a shirt, and a waistcoat. Underneath the chair: a new pair of shoes. Nurse Anne’s laugh, soft as the blue moss he puts in his shoes to keep his feet from blistering. Here is your room, here you are, yes, right here. Time does not hide here. It doesn’t vanish in to the woods or splash into the deep black water or flitter in to the sky” (90)
For once in the novel, things felt solid, still, permanent. There was no longer that sense of urgency, that feeling of suspense, that feeling of being at the edge of the cliff like Cara had described in class. Throughout the novel, Casey wanted readers to feel the sense of confusion that Albert felt but for the first time we can feel the feeling of “belonging” with him instead. Casey making this shift seems to prove that there is reason behind her choices as an author. This excerpt and a couple of pages in to Albert being in the hospital is easy to follow and understand. There is a sense of clarity. Albert must have also felt this way. For the first time there was nowhere for him to “flee” to, he was stuck (for the time being) and that was okay. Albert seemed at peace and the text reflected that. It was a time of peace for me as a reader. I finally felt as if I didn’t need to “chase” after the text, reread and reread passages over and over. I read through this chapter faster than most of the others. At that moment, Casey had managed to make Albert and I, one.
I like what you’re saying about connecting with Albert during moments of lucidity, Brandely. But–and maybe it’s just me–I also felt connected to Albert even at points when he was experiencing his confusing fugue moments. The whole sentiment of being “lost but not actually lost,” the whole feeling of ambivalence, the whole wanderlust of Albert … I think it’s all something that people (at least me) can connect or feel at some nebulous level. So while moments of lucidity can really place a reader with Albert, moments of illucidity (or ambiguity, because I don’t technically think “illucid” is a word) can also place the reader with Albert.