55 pages • 1-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, sexual violence, physical abuse, emotional abuse, and cursing.
Sculptures function as a symbol throughout There Are No Saints, embodying the novel’s central exploration of Art as Creation and Destruction. Cole’s sculptures represent his ability to transform violence and death into objects of beauty, most notably through Fragile Ego, crafted from Carl Danvers’s bones and sold for $750,000. Cole’s sculpture literalizes the novel’s argument that artistic creation requires destruction; he cannot make art without first destroying life. The symbol’s meaning shifts through context and perception: Gallery visitors admire the piece’s aesthetic beauty, while Cole revels in its macabre origins, remarking, “The fact Danvers’s bones will be displayed in the lobby of a tech firm gives me even greater pleasure than removing his irritating existence from my life” (33). For Cole, the very dichotomy between the work’s appearance and its reality is a source of delight, both because it demonstrates his perceived superiority and because it encapsulates his aesthetic sensibilities. However, Cole’s unfinished pieces, which he views as “aborted fetuses […] abandoned by their creator because they died in the womb” (221), suggest that even his artistic vision has limits; some “dead” material simply remains dead.
Cole’s sculptures also connect to The Desire for Control Versus the Demands of Love, as his artistic process represents his need to control and reshape raw material—whether bone or human flesh—into perfect forms. Though it is not a creation of his own, Cole’s beloved Olgiati solar model stands out in this respect. When he destroys it in rage, the act demonstrates not only the obsession with Mara that threatens his self-control but also, symbolically, the self-destructive potential lurking within his artistic drive.
Tattoos serve as a symbol of permanent marking, artistic collaboration, and the complex interplay that defines Cole and Mara’s relationship. The symbol’s meaning evolves throughout their encounter, initially representing violent violation when Cole forcibly tattoos Mara’s ribs while she’s restrained and then representing transformation when she willingly tattoos his back in return. Mara reflects, “He branded me. Put his mark on me forever. And it’s beautiful. Truly fucking beautiful” (164), capturing this duality and acknowledging both the coercive nature of the act and her genuine aesthetic appreciation of it. The tattoos transcend simple ownership to become symbols of their mutual artistic vision and psychological entanglement.
The symbol thus operates in tandem with the theme of The Desire for Control Versus the Demands of Love, illustrating how their relationship negotiates between dominance and reciprocity. As Cole observes, “We’re bound together now, her art on my skin and mine on hers” (169); the tattoos create permanent physical evidence of their connection that transcends their volatile dynamics. Within the theme of Art as Creation and Destruction, the tattoos also represent creation through controlled violence—the needle’s penetration creates beauty through controlled pain. Unlike Cole’s sculptures built from death, the tattoos emerge from living flesh, suggesting a more sustainable form of artistic collaboration that preserves rather than destroys its medium.
Surveillance and watching operate as a motif that reinforces themes of control, obsession, and predatory behavior throughout There Are No Saints. The pattern manifests through cameras in Mara’s studio, Cole’s telescope observations from the neighboring house, and his meticulous tracking of her movements, creating what amounts to a comprehensive surveillance apparatus and demonstrating Cole’s inability to love without dominating. The predatory language surrounding surveillance—Cole describes himself “descending on Danvers like a hawk from the sky” and positions himself as the hunter while others become prey (13)—establishes the power dynamics that govern both his murders and his relationship with Mara.
However, Cole’s watching also paradoxically reveals his dependence on Mara. For example, Cole admits, “Watching [Mara] creates the opposite effect [as being away from her]. The drug courses through my veins, and I’m soothed, relaxed, purposeful once more” (201). This language reveals how surveillance functions as both Cole’s method of control and his psychological necessity. The context of this quote, which comes immediately after Shaw learns of Mara’s survival, blurs the boundaries between control and compulsion further by adding a third element: concern for Mara’s well-being. Once he suspects that Shaw will target Mara, Cole begins watching her in an attempt to protect her, revealing his growing capacity for human connection even as it manifests in unhealthy ways.
Meanwhile, Mara’s awareness of being watched becomes part of her strategic navigation of Cole’s obsession. She deliberately performs for his cameras, using his voyeuristic compulsions to maintain his interest while retaining some agency within their unequal dynamic. This supports the theme of Calculated Self-Destruction as a Strategy for Survival. However, as the novel progresses, Mara’s performance for Cole gives way to something more authentic, culminating in her admission that she “want[s] to be seen” (244). This contrasts starkly with an earlier exchange in which Cole and Mara discuss her Medusa costume: Cole asks, “You don’t want to be looked at?” (193), to which Mara responds, “Men never just want to look” (193). The novel thus draws a distinction between looking at or watching, which is akin to sexual violence in its objectification, and seeing, which entails deep understanding of a person’s whole self.



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