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Cory Wilson
Dr. Sarah Arroyo
English 696
April 27, 2014
On Being Deconstructed
In the last verse of the song Beautiful Boy, John Lennon sings, “Life is what happens to you
while you’re busy making other plans.” Having lost my father early in life, I think about this
lyric often. I see how grief and the lack of family structure that followed his death contributed
toward a deconstruction of the family unit. Life became real and unreal. Structuralist philosophy
suggests that parts could make up the whole and deconstructionists would say there was no
whole to begin with. But how does deconstructionist philosophy hold up to grief, to the loss of a
loved one who represented structure? In Jacques Derrida’s essay “Structure, Sign, and Play in
the Discourse of the Human Sciences” the concept of structure is deconstructed. He writes, “the
whole history of the concept of structure…must be thought of as a series of substitutions of
center for center” (2). Thus, structure does not have a single definition or a center; its
significance floats. Derrida suggests that if we are to believe in structure then that structure will
define our truth; that once structure exists, there is no choice for the individual. But is this true?
Since my father’s death, I have often wondered if the lack of structure that followed allowed for
too many choices, too many definitions of what was appropriate behavior and what was not.
Deconstructionists believed that the center was lost; that structuralist philosophy was no longer
relevant. In light of the era from which it came (Vietnam War, assassinations of John and
Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, etc.) it’s not surprising the philosophy emerged. The
country was mourning the loss of hope and, arguably, the loss of its father figures, metaphorical
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or otherwise. Much like the philosophy of Frederick Nietzsche, deconstructionists questioned
everything. Arguably, they were doing so from a base of grief, their center being lost via
massive social and political upheaval. Thus, if the center is lost, what happens to its subjects, its
citizens? What happens when grief becomes the center and, like a diseased rhizome, it
multiplies?
In Andre Dubus’ short story “Killings,” the author addresses a similar concern. Often
referred to as a seminal writer of realist fiction, Dubus’ tale centers itself around the murder of
protagonist Matt Fowler’s twenty-one year old son, Frank Fowler. The murderer, Richard
Strout, roams free in the small northeastern town on a legal technicality, leaving the Fowler
family, Matt and his wife Ruth, in emotional disarray, “each day he [Matt] felt the same and
when he was able to forget how he felt, when he was able to force himself not to feel that way,
the eyes of the clerks defeated him. He wished those eye were…cold; he felt he was withering
in their tenderness” (Nagel 822). Throughout the story, Dubus (pronounced du byoos) explores
how grief can manifest within a person and multiply, how it can deconstruct the family unit to
varying points of faultfinding blame, justification, and even murder. In this essay, I will explore
deconstruction theory, its origins, philosophy, and applications, then apply it to a seminal work
of literature, the short story “Killings” by Andre Dubus; a work centered thematically in grief. I
will do this with an eye toward testing the validity of deconstructionist philosophy when held to
real world phenomenon (grief) and ascertain why, and if, its philosophy “is almost dead” (86),
as Robert James Parker suggests.
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Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit
…out of nothing comes nothing.
Though deconstructionist philosophy’s origin is linked with the 1967 publication Derrida’s
infamous Of Grammatology, a book that set out to challenge Saussure’s binary of signifier and
signified, sprinklings of its foundation were laced throughout art and pop culture prior to
publication. Andy Warhol’s Campbell Soup Cans was an early example (1962) of multiplicity in
meaning: corporate culture, greed, mass manufacturing, etc., all definitions that were applied to
his work. Deconstruction theory was a reaction to the social and political unrest, as much as it
was a reaction to Ferdinand de Saussure and structuralist philosophy. Structuralist’s understood
language by seeing its difference. They interpreted meaning by juxtaposition and binary. A
political example would be how the United States defined itself through defining the USSR.
Derrida felt that structure was no longer valid, that we cannot define a thing by defining its
opposite. “Perhaps something has occurred in the history of the concept of structure that could be
called an “event”…[and] this event will have a rupture and a redoubling” Jacques Derrida wrote
in his essay “Structure, Sign, and Play…” In some ways, he was right. The social and political
tumult, the assassinations and protests of the 1960s showed a world that was fractioning into
multiples. The center was either lost or being destroyed.
In literature, deconstructionists identify singular interpretations and find things that
undermine the structure of the interpretation. They break down the binary and elicit multiplicity
in meaning. In his attempt to debunk Structuralism and Levi Strauss, Jacques Derrida, the oftconsidered founder of deconstructionist philosophy, was much like the suspicious philosopher
Frederick Nietzsche. In Nietzsche’s essay, “On Truth and Lie in an Extra Moral Sense,” he
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writes that “the different languages, set side by side, show that what matters with words is never
the truth.” Deconstruction theorists like Derrida take Nietzschean suspicion of definition
further; they split Saussure’s signifier into multiples, declaring meaning is not stagnant;
meaning floats without a constant tethering. Deconstructionists seek to abolish the binary of
signifier and signified.
Grief
If the loss of center via assassinations and social upheaval can elicit a mournful collective, then
it would seem logical its effect upon the individual would be similar and just as pronounced. In
Rochelle Almeida’s book The Politics of Mourning, the author addresses grief, through the
short fiction of Andre Dubus and other seminal short fiction writers (Carver, Chopin), as
cultural phenomenon. She writes, “We live in an age…in which mass grief…the direct
experience of it…has become a major cultural phenomenon” (1). Through interdisciplinary
approach, Almeida explores “Post-traumatic loss [in an attempt] to examine the lessons that
fiction can teach us about bereavement therapy and loss resolution” (1). Almeida shows that the
experience of grief can elicit a myriad of complications within the individual. In considering my
own experience with the loss of my father, it was as if I was always attempting to land upon a
defining quote or inspirational moment, some kind of meaning in order to keep going. It was
like grabbing at straws.
Renowned psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross suggests that when a person is faced with
the reality of a loved one’s death, he or she will experience a series of five emotional stages:
denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Further, these stages do not adhere to
order: its progression is illogical. In Dubus’ narrative in “Killings,” he utilizes a non-linear
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approach that mimics Kubler-Ross’ sequence of grief. He mirrors the random and unknown
contours grief can elicit through structure, or better, lack thereof. Just as grief can bounce from
denial to depression to anger, then back to denial and bargaining, Dubus’ narrative bounces
from past to present, and from first person to omniscient. When the story begins, the reader is
exposed to Matt Fowler’s anger, “I should kill him,” he says (Nagel 817). Fowler wants revenge
for his son’s murder but, being a conscious man, he is conflicted. In concert with Hemingway’s
iceberg theory, Dubus’ realist narrative allows for no explanation upfront. There is no backstory provided to justify Fowlers vengeful statement. As readers, we are not privy to date and
time. Nothing makes sense.
In Mike Marais essay, “Violence, Postcolonial Fiction, and the Limits of Sympathy,” he
addresses the narrative technique of realism as a trope for sympathy, thus, misdirection in the
reader. He writes, “realisms inattention to the interplay between subjective violence and
symbolic violence impairs the ethical efficacy of the emotion…namely sympathy” (94). Thus,
Dubus’ disorienting and realist narrative, is somewhat reminiscent of Derrida’s concept of the
“Pharmakon” in that grief seems to bring about a drug like experience, a “spell, charm,
substance…which produces a flickering and disorienting play” (1) points toward the idea of
grief being able to deconstruct time, place, and person into fragments (even the reader). What
was once routine becomes unorthodox to someone overcome by grief. Of Fowler’s confusion,
Dubus’ narrator writes, “he thought vaguely of the Red Sox, did not even know if they were at
home tonight; since it had happened he had not been able to think about the small pleasures he
believed he had earned” (818). Dubus’ non-linear narration deconstructs binaries of anger and
sadness. The reader cannot hang onto one before Dubus’ narrator alters course.
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Toni Morrison’s 2008 novel A Mercy, also follows a non-linear narrative. In Alessandra
Vendrame’s essay “Toni Morrison: A Faulknerian Novelist?,” she writes of Morrison’s narrator
as unreliable in the vein of Faulknerian lore (Absalom! Absalom!, Song of Solomon). Vendrame
writes that Morrison’s non-linear narratives were not only resemblant of William Faulkner, but
that the narrative purpose served was “to expose {the narrators as being] products of their
memories and imaginations…[that this] method allows their consciousness free play; so their
acts of narration…present a subjective construction of the past” (681). Dubus’ narrator is no
different. Though narrated in a realistic tone and non-linear format, when deconstructed Matt
Fowler is fallible and inconsistent. He has no center. Dubus seems concerned with what
happens after the center is lost—how do we define ourselves within this decentered space.
In “Killings,” the center is lost when Matt’s son is murdered. Once it explodes, the
family unit is left with shards of what once was; and for Matt Fowler, once the center is lost,
anything goes; everything is open to consideration: even revenge and murder. In How to
Interpret Literature, Robert Dale Parker states that the point of deconstructionist thought or
philosophy is to “turn our attention to process, discontinuity, disequilibrium, internal
differences, culture… [that we] may find more, not less. The point is…let us see what happens
to culture and interpretation when we look at them, not as settled.” (Parker 110). If this is true,
how can we deconstruct grief into something more positive or enlightening? Parker notes that
deconstructionists interpret literature by what is deemed a double reading. They find things that
undermine the structure of the interpretation. Dubus’ narrative elicits a seemingly normal
family, husband and wife, who, perhaps, are hiding a world of hostility that is revealed through
grief.
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Deconstructing the Fowlers
James Nagel, in his forward to “Killings,” writes of the “plurality” implied within the title of
the short story, stating the “title refers to the contrasting meaning of the two murders [Matt
Fowler’s son at the hands of Richard Strout; and Richard Strout at the hand of Matt Fowler].
The plurality Nagel addresses is, again, in line with the iceberg theory and realist writing of
which Dubus is often associated with. Dubus seems to want the reader to consider multiple
reasons behind the violence and, ethically, whether they are justified. Also implied within the
title is the metaphorical death of Matt Fowler and his wife, Ruth. In the essay “Two Goods:
Individualism and Solidarity in the Fiction of Andre Dubus,” Neal Dolan addresses a binary
within the moral and psychological challenges Dubus creates within his characters and the
realist approach he takes to narration. Dolan suggests the realist narrative elicits a trope of
misdirection. He writes, “part of the benefit of such a relaxed approach [i.e. realist approach], as
Dubus well knew, is that it allowed unconscious energies to surface” (76). As the story evolves,
the reader soon finds that grief brings forth suspicion and blame. Ruth Fowler begins to blame
her husband for what she deems is his complicity in their son’s relationship with a married
woman. In the following You Tube clip from the Miramax film In the Bedroom, an adaptation
of Dubus’ “Killings” that was nominated for five academy awards including: best picture, best
actor, best actress, and best writing: screenplay; Ruth Fowler, overcome by grief, begins to
unravel and indirectly blame her husband for their sons murder:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9K9m155U2E
Ruth suspects that Matt Fowler was too lenient with their son because he (Matt) was
attracted to his son’s lover, that he justified and overlooked the fact that the woman was still
legally married, a sin in the eye of the Catholic Church. While the text does illuminate Matt
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justifying his son’s relations to a married woman, “she was young and maybe she liked his
[referring to her husband, Richard] looks and then after a while she realized she was living
with a bastard” (Nagel 821), what this scene ultimately epitomizes is how grief can multiply
and turn people against each other in a time when they need each other most. Ruth Fowler
seems to represent a side of grief that lurks underneath singular definition. When pushed she
relies upon her Catholic Church leanings for answers, i.e. her son would not have been
murdered if he had not been courting a still-married woman. In Lucy Ferriss’ “Never Truly
Members”: Andre Dubus’ Patriarchal Catholicism, she explores how Dubus’ fiction is, as
novelist Thomas Kennedy writes, “consistently concerned with an existential Christian
vision of a real world in which real human beings must live” (Kennedy from The
Importance of Andre Dubus, ix). Ferriss suggests that Dubus’ work is fraught with tension
between the relation of sex and marriage, lust and sacrifice. Thus, if we were to deconstruct
grief’s origin within this story, we could trace it to “Catholicism and sexual love [as] the
abiding concerns…each having its dark, destructive side” (Ferriss 40) adultery, resentment,
or unresolved marital issues.
Dubus’ narrative does point toward Matt Fowler being complicit. And Matt could also be
construed through the lens of Catholicism, for he does appear to covet his son’s lover “and
again he felt the pride and sorrow and envy too, not knowing whether he was envious of
Frank [his son] or Mary [his son’s lover]” (Nagel 821). But Matt’s grief could also originate
from emasculation by Ruth, his wife of thirty-one-years, “he [Matt] neglected his own
objections…so that as he spoke to her [Ruth] he felt as disembodied as he sometimes did in
the store when he helped a man choose a blouse or dress or piece of costume jewelry for his
wife” (821). Dubus’ narrative does not allow for singular interpretation, for he also directs
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his attention onto Ruth as someone who is complicit as well by way of her controlling and
overbearing behavior. Here is a clip from In the Bedroom that offers a different perspective
from that of the previous clip:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFo_QE8j1Hs
In keeping with multiplicity, we can view Matt’s grief from the angle of loss of his son, loss
of his manhood, loss of his happy marriage, sins of the father through Catholicism (covet),
etc. In this, Dubus creates a trope of multiplicity in grief. But what is the mustard seed of
grief? It could be adultery; it could be loss or death, or it could be murder. Dubus seems to
not need singular definition. He seems more interested in what could be argued is the
original philosophical questioning; that of Plato and what is just and what is unjust. Is it
worse to commit injustice than to suffer, or is it worse to commit injustice and get away
with it? Throughout the non-linear narrative, Dubus always returns to Matt Fowler’s
contemplation and justification for murder in revenge. Dubus thrusts the reader into
fragmentation and multiplicity in emotion by allowing a narrative that mirrors a grief
stricken mind to address moral boundaries and, perhaps, transcend them. For example, do
we view Matt Fowler as a murderer, or do we view him as a man sickened with grief from
the loss of his son, his complicity, his flailing marriage, his emasculation, etc. The
deconstructionist lens would suggest that singular interpretations are not valid. There is no
signifier or signified. Dubus’ narrative points to what Derrida would call the difference—
which is a postponement in getting to the end of things; there is no resolution.
At the end of the story, after Matt’s revenge murder has taken place, after he murders
Richard Strout, the real tragedy is revealed: Dubus offers no absolution or resolution for
either Matt or Ruth Fowler. No one goes to jail. Matt comes home and Ruth, her complicity
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revealed, asks, “Did you do it…are you all right? (830). Emotionless, she begins to “pet
him” and support him, everything she was unable to do prior to the murder. But not Matt
Fowler. Dubus writes “She [Ruth] was holding him, wanting him, and he wished he could
make love with her but he could not…he saw [his son and his lover] making love…and
holding Ruth, his cheek touching her breast, he shuddered with a sob that he kept silent in
his heart” (831). In this, Dubus allows for what Kenneth Burke would call the “unending
conversation.” Dubus does not destroy meaning or remove it; like deconstructionist
philosophy, he multiplies meaning by showing through narration and characterization the
rhizomatic effects grief can elicit.
Deconstructing Dubus?
Perhaps the biggest challenge to deconstructionist philosophy is we do not arrive with an
essential answer; thus, debate over its relevance to hard or soft science remains unanswered.
Dubus’ narrative holds true to this lack of arrival in a singular definition. Due to a lack in
essence, and in contrast to deconstruction theory, scholars will often attempt to glean insight
into a narrative by exploring the biography of its author. In Conversation with Andre Dubus,
edited by Olivia Carr Edenfield, Dubus confesses to “Killings” being one of his “what if”
stories (80). He speaks of writing fiction as not an exercise in answering questions the fiction
raise. He asks, “don’t they have philosophers for that” (81). This quote, ironic as it is, lends
itself to deconstructionist philosophy, which takes its cue from “Roland Barthes idea of the
death of the author. No longer could our understanding of an author tie down our understanding
of a text” (Parker 87).
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Though Dubus’ life was marked by several tragedies, his eldest daughter being raped as a
young woman, and, in 1986, losing the use of his legs after being struck by an automobile while
attempting to help two stranded motorists, he did not suffer a sons murder, or a sexless thirtyone year marriage (Dubus was married three times); nor did he participate [that we know of] in
a murder-for-revenge scenario. He simply states “Killings” was a what if story. Elizabeth
Grubgeld, in her essay “Body, Privacy, and Community: Reading Disability in the Late Fiction
of Andre Dubus” argues all of Dubus’ fiction stems from what she calls a “somatic orientation
[that Dubus] …requires his readers to consider…illness narratives” (37). While it could be
argued that Matt Fowler is ill from grief, we do not know if Dubus was ill from grief at the time
he wrote this story. For example, his paralysis occurred well after “Killings” was written and
the narrative makes no mention of rape. Dr. Tim Caron, a professor of English at California
State University, Long Beach, once told me that with regard to authorial intent, “author’s lie.”
He may be right. But if Dubus’ narrative and record of his personal life have any semblance of
truth, then we can surmise that truth in his fiction does not arrive, if ever, from biography, and
certainly not in “Killings;” it arrives in the readers mind and in their individual interpretation of
the text. Since a deconstruction theorists aim is to multiply, not negate, they would be inclusive
of a reader’s singular interpretation but only as a part of—not the whole—for there is no whole
begin with.
Now What?
Dr. Caron’s question struck me as, perhaps, an inkling of an essentialist question. If “authors
lie,” then the implication is there are essential answers to be found and, further, the author is
hiding them. In the beginning of this essay, I stated that I wanted to explore why, as Parker
suggests, deconstruction is considered mostly dead. Perhaps there is something within people,
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even within scholarly types like Dr. Caron that want, or need, to find meaning that does not
keep multiplying. Post-colonial theorist, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak coined a phrase: strategic
essentialism. Spivak, a noted deconstructionist early in her career, earned her standing within
the theorist community for her translation of Derrida’s Of Grammatology. According to
PostcolonialStudies@Emory.com Spivak applies “deconstructive strategies to various
theoretical engagements and textual analyses including feminism, Marxism, literary criticism
and post colonialism.” Spivak has stated that “essentialism [was only] bad in its
application…[for] uncritical deployment is dangerous…[yet, if] judiciously applied it can be
effective in dismantling unwanted structures or alleviating suffering” (Spivak @Emory.edu). I
suspect judiciously applied is what caused the uproar within the theoretical community; the “E”
word being so loud that critics of Spivak forgot to ask, as she states, “what [I] meant by
strategy” (Spivak @Emory.edu). Thus, critics seemed more concerned with wholesale
essentialism, and what less-than-honorable factions might attempt to do with the strategy, than
what Spivak meant. Spivak was speaking in relation to what could be construed as essentialist
responsibility when considering action upon those who oppress other people. Can we ethically
turn our heads when others are being beaten or abused or oppressed by virtue of their
orientation or social status (Spivak being from India, social status was a huge influence in her
postcolonial theories?
Perhaps this question of strategic essence brings us back to Plato’s just and unjust; and
people needing singular meaning in their lives? Another Spivak concern was that of ethical
singularity, “the engagement of the Other in non-essentialist…terms.” Spivak writes “We all
know that when we engage profoundly with one person, the responses come from both sides:
this is responsibility and accountability…The object of ethical action is not an object of
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benevolence, for here responses flow from both sides” Spivak @Emory). Here, Spivak diverts
from deconstructive philosophy for she recognizes the variables in human interaction. This
would seem more humanist in nature than one would typically find from a deconstructive
theorist. Spivak seemed to recognize that there might be holes within deconstruction, that to
subscribe to a philosophy that is based in multiplicity of meaning would be, perhaps,
hypocritical. Spivak questions what happens if we keep deconstructing and multiplying
definitions, how do we make decisions for ourselves and others that have some semblance of
ethics?
Whatever ethical singularity Matt and Ruth Fowler had prior to their sons death failed when
they conspired to and committed the murder of Richard Strout. When deconstructed, it could be
argued that grief was the cause of all the killings within the story, metaphorical or otherwise.
Perhaps this is what Dubus wanted the reader to consider—what is the mustard seed of our
actions and does it matter? Or do only our actions matter—not what contributed toward them?
Matt and Ruth grieved their son’s death. Their grief caused them to question each other and
their thirty-one year marriage; it drove them insane with accusation and blame, all of which
could be argued were mere attempts to find a singular definition to their experience of grief and
loss. But for Matt and Ruth there were no answers. There was no singular component or
defining quality for them to hang onto. This lack of definition is a primary challenge to
deconstructionist philosophy. Its application to real world concern is problematic because of its
indifference to the singular or even the strategic. The post colonial studies site at Emory
University, states that deconstructive theory is similar to that of a “good lawyer: when on
defense, prod the prosecution’s narrative until the cracks begin to appear. ” How often do we
hear about a murderer set free due to an insanity plea? Then there is the new plea, affluenza,
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where children raised in affluent homes cannot be defined or prosecuted by their actions, for
other reasons contributed toward their actions. The attorney, a skillful deconstructionist,
establishes a “crack” and he or she builds upon it by defining it into multiples until a murderer
is set free.
Perhaps the adage, with freedom comes responsibility is apropos. If deconstruction theory is
“almost dead” then its death is due to its essence at birth: multiplicity of definition.
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Works cited:
Almeida, Rochelle. "The Politics of Mourning." Google Books. Fairleigh Dickinson
University
Press, 2004. Web. 05 May 2014.
Bodwell, Joshua. “The Problem of the Author: On Not Reading Autobiography into the
Writing of Andre Dubus.” Xavier Review. 30.2 (2010). 130-39. MLA
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"Conversations with Andre Dubus." Google Books. Univ. Press of Mississippi, June-July
2013. Web. 05 May 2014.
"Derrida's "Pharmakon"" Pharmakon. N.p., n.d. Web. 05 May 2014.
Derrida, Jacques. “Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human
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http://www.mariabuszek.com/kcai/PoMoSeminar/Readings/DrrdaSSP.pdf
Dolan, Neal. "Two Goods: Individualism and Solidarity in the Fiction of Andre Dubus."
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Ferriss, Lucy. ""Never Truly Members": Andre Dubus Patriarchal Catholicism." South
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Grubgeld, Elizabeth. "Body, Privacy, and Community: Reading Disability in the Late
Fiction of
Andre Dubus." The University of Notre Dame: Religion &
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33-53. JSTOR. Web. 14 Apr. 2014.
Marais, Mike. “Violence, Postcolonial Fiction, and the Limits of Sympathy.” Studies in
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Nagel, James. Anthology of the American Short Story. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2008.
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Parker, Robert Dale. How to Interpret Literature: Critical Theory for Literary and
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"Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty." Postcolonial Studies Emory. Emory University, 1 Apr.
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"The Unforgiving Mother - In the Bedroom (10/11) Movie CLIP (2001) HD." YouTube.
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Vendrame, Allesandra. “Toni Morrison: A Faulknerian Novelist?” Universitatsverlag
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