To respond to my earlier post, Strachan was the narrator throughout the whole book, proven when he says “She (Jean) was writing a letter to me,” which threw me because, how was he able to relate conversations which he was far too remote in time and space to have heard? My answer to that question is he was just making the whole thing up. I’m not saying that the events of the book didn’t happen in the book. I’m saying Strachan presents a dramatization of the events of Jean and Joe’s life.
Why would Shute narrate this story that way? I think because Strachan is a character too -- not just a narrator -- this story is also about him, like at the end when he talks about a girl who he met 20 years too late. This device or conceit allows Shute to portray attitudes and or prejudices with a sense of intimacy while at the same time not condoning them -- I don’t think Shute is a racist. Strachan is definitely prejudice -- Negroes all over the world all have so much to laugh about. Come on, man. But an English lawyer of that time might have thought that.
Now Shute presents us with Jean. I like Jean. I think Strachan’s portrayal of her is a little corny and idealized, but under that is a real, in the book, woman. She puts up with a death march pretty well. She inherits money and doesn’t spend it all on shoes and drugs. Instead she helps out people who helped her, finds the man she loves and builds a town like Alice for them to spend their lives together. All I can say to this is, “Hell yeah!” Return favors and build the life you want. Everyone should do that.
So all this is to say that when Jean says to Joe, “You’re such an energetic lover!” I almost threw up the corn was coming so hot and heavy, I get it. In the world of the book they probably did it, but Strachan, who was in love with her too, didn’t want to imagine that -- he just wanted the corn.
The thing that worries me is that my interpretation could be wrong, and that this isn’t brilliant and that Nevil Shute is kind of a bad writer. I think I’m right. I hope I’m right.
