Anaylsis of Lyman's death
As the River Flows: An Explication of a Passage in Erdrich’s “The Convertible”
There’s board and other things in the current. It's so high.
No sound comes from the river after the splash he makes, so I run right over. I look around. It's getting dark. I see he's halfway across the water already, and I know he didn't swim there but the current took him.
It's far. I hear his voice, though, very clearly across it.
"My boots are filling," he says.
He says this in a normal voice, like he just noticed and he doesn't know what to think of it. Then he's gone. A branch comes by. Another branch. And I go in. By the time I get out of the river, off the snag I pulled myself onto, the sun is down. I walk back to the car, turn on the high beams, and drive it up the bank. I put it in first gear and then
I take my foot off the clutch. I get out, close the door, and watch it plow softly into the water. The headlights reach in as they go down, searching, still lighted even after the water swirls over the back end. I wait. The wires short out.
It is all finally dark. And then there is only the water, the sound of it going and running and going and running and running.
In Louise Erdrich’s “Red Convertible”, the reader initially presumes that Lyman’s attitudes towards his brother’s death are insincere and distant. However, upon closer inspection of the details it becomes evident that Lyman must accept the situation.
Upon returning from war, Lyman observes Henry is overwhelmed by the freedoms of everyday life. He describes Henry as “jumpy and mean” and only finds him “still” in front of the TV. Lyman realizes that Henry’s physical being is all that is left. The TV feeds him with images and sounds, creating a sense of ease. Henry is unable to find any sort of connection elsewhere. His hopes of Henry returning back to normal diminish as he realizes their interactions are no longer the same. Lyman is forced to accept their limited, superficial dialogues. As an
There’s board and other things in the current. It's so high.
No sound comes from the river after the splash he makes, so I run right over. I look around. It's getting dark. I see he's halfway across the water already, and I know he didn't swim there but the current took him.
It's far. I hear his voice, though, very clearly across it.
"My boots are filling," he says.
He says this in a normal voice, like he just noticed and he doesn't know what to think of it. Then he's gone. A branch comes by. Another branch. And I go in. By the time I get out of the river, off the snag I pulled myself onto, the sun is down. I walk back to the car, turn on the high beams, and drive it up the bank. I put it in first gear and then
I take my foot off the clutch. I get out, close the door, and watch it plow softly into the water. The headlights reach in as they go down, searching, still lighted even after the water swirls over the back end. I wait. The wires short out.
It is all finally dark. And then there is only the water, the sound of it going and running and going and running and running.
In Louise Erdrich’s “Red Convertible”, the reader initially presumes that Lyman’s attitudes towards his brother’s death are insincere and distant. However, upon closer inspection of the details it becomes evident that Lyman must accept the situation.
Upon returning from war, Lyman observes Henry is overwhelmed by the freedoms of everyday life. He describes Henry as “jumpy and mean” and only finds him “still” in front of the TV. Lyman realizes that Henry’s physical being is all that is left. The TV feeds him with images and sounds, creating a sense of ease. Henry is unable to find any sort of connection elsewhere. His hopes of Henry returning back to normal diminish as he realizes their interactions are no longer the same. Lyman is forced to accept their limited, superficial dialogues. As an