“When Carla moved in here, when she chose this life with Clark, she began to see things in a new way. After that she started saying ‘mobile home’ and she looked to see how people had fixed them up.”

Carla’s relationship with Clark changes her life, a change that her choice of vocabulary reflects. She once looked down on mobile homes as a marker of social class. Now that she lives in one, however, she frames her language more positively and works to improve her surroundings according to what people are doing in similar situations. Carla is accepting her new status, a status that Clark has imposed on her.

“I have always felt the need of a more authentic kind of life. I know I cannot expect you to understand this.”

When Carla flees her parents to be with Clark, she writes to them to justify her position. She’s leaving behind a comfortable, wealthy home to join Clark in what she now accepts as relative poverty. At the time, Carla frames this poverty as authenticity, potentially implying that her parents’ comfortable lives are somehow inauthentic. Looking back at it later, Carla recognizes this pretense as one of many delusions that made her life more bearable.

“The days passed and Carla didn’t go near that place. She held out against the temptation.”

Carla doesn’t want to investigate what happened to Flora the goat. If she found evidence that Clark killed the goat, she wouldn’t be able to return to her previous existence. She willfully buys into the delusion, deliberately avoiding the possibility of an uncomfortable truth so that she can maintain the pretense of a happy relationship.

“Then Juliet said that she had found herself in somewhat the same situation but had not allowed things to go on because of the tragic plight of his wife.”

At the beginning of the second story, “Chance,” Juliet assures herself that Eric’s marriage is the reason that they didn’t have sex during their brief meeting. By the end of the story, however, the audience knows that this isn’t true. Nevertheless, Juliet has reframed her past to make herself appear more assertive and principled. She’s lying to both her friend and herself so that she can believe she’s a better person, someone who has exerted agency over her decisions, hinting at the theme of Fleeting Moments of Agency.

“She had made herself into a rather superior, invulnerable observer. And now that she was away from home all the time this stance had become habitual, almost a duty.”

Writing to her parents about the tragedy on the train, Juliet stops. She recognizes, in this moment, that she’s framing her relationship to the incident to make herself appear as an invulnerable observer. The purpose of the letter isn’t to share what happened, but to reassure herself that she wasn’t directly involved in the man’s death by suicide. As in framing her decision not to have sex with Eric, Juliet is subtly manipulating her depiction of recent events to soothe her ego and calm her anxieties.

“It was something you got used to, it was a new kind of life. That was all.”

Eric’s descriptions of his relationship with his wife avoid the idea of tragedy. In his conversation with Juliet, he doesn’t want to think of himself as a victim of fate or circumstance. Much like Juliet, he prefers to reassure himself through positive delusions. He refuses responsibility, surrendering his agency to the universe, much as Juliet subtly alters her retelling of events. The subtext conflicts with their statements, which only makes the characters seem more alike.

“She is too keyed up to be hungry, but she examines the bottles on the counter, which people must have brought for the wake.”

Juliet’s nerves take away her hunger, but the food’s quality interests her anyway. By inspecting it, she hopes to gain insight into Eric, his late wife, and the people who consoled him. Juliet doesn’t want to satisfy her hunger; she’s seeking the sustenance of knowledge, craving any insight into the character of the man she traveled so far to see and about whom she knows so little.

“This sort of job was never easy for her, she never grasped right away the manner in which things were put together, and she might have dragged the whole thing downstairs and gone out to the garden to get Sam to help her, but for the thought of Irene.”

In “Soon,” the third story, Juliet hasn’t been with her parents in so long that she’s even more conscious of how she operates in the family home. Subconsciously, Irene’s presence perturbs her because she senses that Irene occupies the social niche in the household that she once filled. Determined to show her independence and strength, Juliet doesn’t want to ask for help lest she attract the attention of Irene and somehow make herself look weaker by comparison.

“‘He has to suck up to them,’ said Sara with a sudden change of tone, a wavering edge of viciousness, a weak chuckle.”

Juliet is aware of her father’s awkward relationship with social class. He feels no loyalty to his peers but seeks to impress working-class people to ingratiate himself with them. Sam feels insecure about his wealth and status, but this insecurity manifests in a way that faintly embarrasses his family and makes them slightly resent his desire to “suck up” to working-class people at the gas station.

“What was the matter with Juliet? She felt no real sympathy.”

The narrator addresses the audience, posing a question. The directness of the question gestures toward the broader dislocation that Juliet feels, having returned home. The problem isn’t only her reaction to her father’s story or her lack of sympathy, but a broader sense of alienation from the home and family she once knew so well. Something isn’t right about Juliet, the narrator observes, and Juliet herself is struggling to define this issue. Her introspection manifests in the narrator’s directness.

“The look in his eyes was not grateful, or forgiving—it was not really personal, it was just the raw look of an astounded animal, hanging on to whatever it could find.”

After their quarrel, Juliet helps Don deal with a sudden medical issue. Don isn’t grateful to Juliet, as her assistance only makes him feel weak. He loathes that he must rely on someone whose beliefs differ so much from his own, and he resents that Juliet has had an opportunity to show that her humanity isn’t motivated by religion. He can’t help but feel that this issue is a continuation of their debate, even if Juliet doesn’t think so. Therefore, her assistance feels more like a rebuke than an act of benevolence.

“It was the sort of card you send to an acquaintance whose tastes you cannot guess. Not a crude jokey card or a truly witty card or a sentimental card.”

In the fourth story, “Silence,” Juliet yearns so much for Penelope that she tries to analyze everything. The birthday card contains meager information, and even the “sort of card” (132) becomes a symbol of the state of their relationship in Juliet’s eyes. Rather than containing anything, the card is perfunctory and empty; the emptiness is, in itself, telling, and Juliet interprets this emotional negative space as evidence of her poor relationship with her daughter, thematically illustrating The Elusiveness of Closure and Moral Clarity.

“To Eric’s way of thinking, civility would restore good feeling, the semblance of love would be enough to get by on until love itself might be rediscovered. And if there was never anything more than a semblance—well, that would have to do. Eric could manage with that.”

Juliet and Eric have their struggles as a couple, but Eric’s method of dealing with the matter is to feign affection until it returns. He’s willing to play the role of loving husband, even if his actions don’t match his emotions. He adopts pretense and performance instead of sincerity; once Juliet recognizes this, Eric’s performative affection only exacerbates the problem.

“Much of their work is lost or fragmentary and is also reported to be indecent.”

The triptych of stories involving Juliet spans many decades. The narrative spaces between the stories are vast, leaving much to the imagination about what happened in Juliet’s life. In this way, the three stories resemble those of the Greek authors she admires. Much of her biography is “lost or fragmentary” (151), inviting readers to piece together her life, just as she pieces together the works of classic literature.

“Maybe the worst thing would have been to get just what she might have thought she was after.”

In “Passion,” the fifth story, Grace isn’t sure what she wants when she seeks out the old Travers house. This uncertainty seeps into the narration, which presents her motivations as vague and unknowable because Grace herself lacks certainty. She’s exposing herself to the pain of the past; she isn’t sure whether she even wants closure, catharsis, or understanding. Instead, she’s deliberating on a difficult but formative moment in her life as a way to better understand her present.

“In Grace’s recollection, there is not another car on the highway, and their speed approaches the flight on the highway overpass.”

As they drive along, the prose reflects the immediacy of the moment. The story has narrated Grace’s memories in the past tense. In the car, as reality blurs into unreality, the prose switches to the present tense, as Grace feels the strangeness of this time much more immediately. These memories and emotions are so intense that they shift the narrative tense, thrusting the audience into Grace’s recollection.

“I suppose there could be something about that underlying. Underlying her hysteria. You know I feel bad about all that stuff. I really do.”

In the sixth story, “Trespasses,” as Harry talks to his daughter, he shows a reticence to psychoanalyze the tension in his marriage. However, the frankness of his confession means that he can’t return to denial. He acknowledges the pain of the past and how it may filter into his present relationship with Eileen, yet he diminishes her emotional reality by dismissing her suffering as “hysteria.” In contrast, he merely feels bad. Despite his honesty, Harry can’t concede any ground to Eileen even when talking to Lauren.

“She never wanted to steal you away or anything like that, just to make friends with you. She was just lonely and confused.”

The fear and danger that Lauren sensed in earlier conversations metastasizes into pity. With Harry’s guidance, Lauren sees Delphine from a different perspective. Delphine isn’t trying to attack or steal Lauren; she’s as subject to circumstance and tragedy as everyone else. There are no victors or heroes, Lauren learns. Instead, the world is filled with profoundly hurt people trying to navigate their trauma in different ways.

“And people like Joanne were sure that nobody, ever, could really like Shakespeare, and so if anybody from here went, it was because they wanted to mix with the higher-ups, who were not enjoying it themselves but only letting on they were.”

In “Tricks,” the seventh story, Joanne’s bitterness manifests as certainty that her sister’s love of Shakespeare is purely pretentious performance. Her belief shows how little she really knows her sister, as Robin’s love of Shakespeare is far more concerned with Robin herself than with anyone else. Joanne is partially correct in that Robin attends the theater for more than just the performance. In truth, the entire trip is an opportunity for Robin to perform for an audience of one. By going to the theater, she can play the role of the person she would like to be. Joanne mistakes Robin’s assertion of identity for insecurity.

“The conversation of kisses. Subtle, engrossing, fearless, transforming. When they stopped they were both trembling, and it was with an effort that he got his voice under control, tried to speak matter-of-factly.”

Language separates Robin and Daniel, as English isn’t Daniel’s first language. In addition, Robin lacks the experience to convey her emotions even in English. However, together, they find a common language in “the conversation of kisses” (252). These acts convey emotions that Robin can’t express in words, meaning that she feels them more keenly, and they leave an even greater impression on her.

“The old patterns of life, the rules of earlier days, persist to some extent, but a lot of people go their own way without even knowing about such things.”

In the many years between the failed reunion and the narrative present, much has happened in the world around Robin. Old patterns now persist only “to some extent” (263), creating a delineation between then and now. This change is reflected in Robin herself: Her life is more prosaic and measured than the year she spent desperately hoping for a romantic reunion with Daniel. That excitement, followed by pain, left her somewhat alienated from the world around her. She has changed, like the world, so that her old, familiar self is now muted and vague.

“If ever I am seriously ill I hope I am able to destroy this diary or go through and stroke out any mean things in it, in case I die.”

In “Powers,” the eighth and final story, Nancy directly addresses the audience through her diary. This sense of intense voyeurism (of peering directly into her mind) is elevated by her desire to destroy the diary before others can read it. It contains many secrets, her words suggest, that she couldn’t bear for people to know. However, Nancy isn’t necessarily a reliable narrator. Her words speak to a sense of scandal that doesn’t really exist. Rather than scandal, however, Nancy fears the honesty of the words. She tries so hard to conform and to guard her true self that her emotional honesty causes genuine dread.

“Tessa is quite smart and she knows the way the wind is blowing and she could be upset to see you leave without her. So I’ll give you an opportunity just to slip away.”

The Matron at the mental health facility offers Nancy an opportunity to leave Tessa without offending. This minor gesture of feigned politeness exposes the insincerity of everyday life, especially since Nancy believes that Tessa possesses almost supernatural insight. The suggestion that such a shallow trick would fool Tessa is patently absurd to Nancy; the text confirms the Matron’s foolishness when Tessa discusses the trick with Nancy later in the story. However, Tessa allows such shallow, insincere people to hold her, Nancy realizes, which illustrates her pessimistic acceptance of her current state, thematically illustrating the elusiveness of closure and moral clarity.