In-depth Book Review : The Autobiography of Red (by Anne Carson)

Prior to the actual Autobiography of Red, Anne Carson begins with a mockery of syllogism. In the hilarious Appendix C’s satire, we come away with nothing definitive. There’s no certainty, no argument proving any truth, no one, single answer, no statement of surefire fact. Nothing is clarified; however, (in #21) the onus is put on us as readers, as the section’s final words are, “either we will lie or if not not.” In the preceding statements, we were more passive, but here we are active in searching the truth. For a book that will deal with heavy issues of human existence – life, death, immortality, love, desire, loneliness, and enlightenment – this section is a perfect setup.

A book teeming with so many humanistic aspects, perhaps the most glaring is Geryon’s (the protagonist) constant struggle with loneliness and loss. From an early age, Geryon must deal with a great loss that would devastate any child – the loss of a parent. While Carson doesn’t provide much insight, it’s implied that Geryon’s mother and father are separated. We know that “Every second Tuesday in winter Geryon’s father and brother went to hockey practice. / Geryon and his mother had supper alone” (34). This sounds like visitation rights. And not only is Geryon without a father figure in the household, but also, we’re not told Geryon sees his father at all, as the brother does. This must be difficult for a child to cope with.

The consequences of this particular loss create a feeling of loneliness that, ironically, fills the house. Geryon and his mother eat supper alone; while their mother works, Geryon and his brother are babysat. Furthermore, there are plenty of moments when Geryon fully experiences loneliness. In a loss of innocence and trust, his brother molests him, in which he can do nothing about it – he won’t go to his mother, and there’s no father to seek – an awfully desperate feeling. When Geryon and his mother are alone in the house, they turn on all the lights in every room, even in the rooms they have no intention of utilizing. Why do this? It’s a shield against emptiness. Although just the two of them in the house, turning on all the lights makes them feel less alone. Less dark is less fear. Geryon and his mother fight the fear of existing alone. Even objects represent solitude and abandonment: the recurring image of the empty fruit bowl is so simple, yet starkly unforgettable.

But, not all of Geryon’s loss is heartbreaking and negative. An underlying concept of this story is self-awareness, discovery, and acceptance. The entire novel is laced with the battle between inside versus outside – physically, spiritually, literally, and metaphorically. As a child, much of Geryon’s life was extremely internalized. We always saw him indoors with his mother; we saw his thoughts, rather than his spoken word; the inception of his autobiography. His house was a barrier from the ongoing, pressing wind. Even when Carson isn’t directly addressing Geryon’s inner self, we know she associates him with the inner/outer contrast, as in this scene from “Screendoor:”

Outside the dark pink air

was already hot and alive with cries. Time to go to schoo, she said for the third time.

Her cool voice floated

over a pile of fresh tea towels and across the shadowkitchen to where Geryon stood

at the screen door.

Thus, everything outside was a fear or threat, something negative; whereas everything inside was comfortable. However, this changes once Geryon meets Herakles.

While Carson continues to paint Geryon as a chronically struggling, confused and conflicted, lovestruck, woe-is-me outcast, she also shows us his coming of age. After meeting, befriending, and growing intimately and romantically involved with Herakles, many of Geryon’s experiences occur in the outer world. We no longer see him in the house with his mother. Instead most of the scenes are outside. When Geryon visits Herakles’ house and stays with Herakles’ grandmother, Geryon and Herakles are outside on the lawn or the porch. He takes road trips with Herakles. When they return to the house, “Geryon followed Herakles to the back porch. They sat on opposite ends of the sofa” (65). Evidently, as Geryon becomes more involved with Herakles, he becomes more involved and active with the outside world. He’s not alone anymore.

Consequently, when Geryon and Herakles separate, we initially see Geryon back inside. He returns home, sits across from his mother in the kitchen, and we can feel the tension in the room. With Herakles no longer in close proximity, just like that, Geryon experiences inner turmoil – trying to discover his purpose, who he is and what he wants to accomplish. In “Water,” “Outside the natural world was enjoying a moment of strength” (70) while inside Geryon was lamenting, filled with angst, solitude, weak desperation. This is a far cry from the inside Geryon experienced as a boy before he came to begin accepting himself. Now that he’s aware of his desires (and sexual orientation), it’s an unhealthy chore to keep himself bottled up.

So now we have the Geryon who’s trapped inside, in his feelings, in love, in jealousy, and in fear of being alone. This is a changed Geryon, whom, “His mother reached out / a hand to touch his head but he ducked sideways” (73) – very unlike the Geryon who embraced his mother during childhood. When traveling on the airplane, “night darkness glided across the outer world / the inside of the aeroplane got colder and smaller” (79). How long can one remain introverted? And to what extent? Anxiety corked, Geryon’s internalization creates loneliness and emptiness because there’s no one with him but the self, a self that won’t suffice. Geryon experiences an insatiable hunger – on the plane he eats ravenously, then not much time passes and he’s hungry again. This is Geryon’s lack of self-fulfillment. He can’t seem to find a way to be completely satisfied with and within himself. And none of this is really about being a social pariah, as we see in “Mitwelt:”

It was not the fear of ridicule,

to which everyday life as a winged red person had accommodated Geryon early in life,

but his blank desertion of his own mind

that threw him into despair.

Rather, it’s the fear of being alone, losing everything around him and left with nothing but himself.

In the end, Geryon is just as ordinarily confused as is the common person. By the novel’s conclusion, he’s more enlightened than the average person may be; nevertheless, he’s still human. These are Geryon’s parting thoughts, “We are amazing beings” (146). He’s less self-loathing, less depressed, perhaps still not fully satisfied, but having experienced and learned so much; from philosophers and photography, to receiving a brief ass-kicking, to accepting himself for who and what he is – what people are – he’s a being both old a new, now knowing what it’s like to live.