The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

When my father died, I felt keenly the loss of a language that only he and I spoke. This book is where that idea comes from: that for any deep friendship, there is a language that only the two of you speak and no one else can replace it. This is explored through several different character relationships with the same man: John Singer.

Singer is a deaf mute. Ironically, a cast of very disparate characters all feel that Singer is the one man who really understands them. These people have different ages and genders and socioeconomic backgrounds and races and religious or economic perspectives, they are all outcasts from society in their own way. When they visit Singer at the same time, they fall into awkward silence, as they have absolutely nothing in common with each other (except for their friendship with Singer). And so they visit him individually instead.

How can all these people feel that Singer is the one person in the world who truly understands them? It’s a bit mysterious but perhaps part of it is that Singer is such a good listener. And there’s an interesting effect at play that if a canvas is blank, we read ourselves into it. Because Singer never says anything, he never shatters that illusion.

That would be one interpretation. The other is that perhaps he does understand them all very well precisely because he focuses intently on them to the exclusion of all else, without inserting himself into the conversation. Or perhaps it’s certain personality traits that he has, such as hospitality, focus, deep empathy, deep understanding. Or a combination of things.

And perhaps me trying to dissect the “how” of it detracts instead of adds. The fact is that there is something intangible to relationships. Something which defies description. With certain people you just “know” that they “get it.” And there’s something intangible to art, as well, and me trying to describe what this book does falls short because it defies description. True art is ineffable.

Needless to say, because of the strong connection that this book’s concepts has with my own grieving process over losing my father, I have a strong visceral connection with this book. It has caused me to reflect and helped me process the vicissitudes of life on par with what a deep philosophical book does to you, and yet this book is pure narrative, no polemic morals here. I highly recommend it to most people, unless you’re one of those who needs a fast plot to stay engaged.

The characters are some of the most distinctive, and I still have a very strong feeling for all of their personalities that has stuck with me even though it’s now been a few months since I read it. This is a book I look forward to returning to time and again through the years.

McCullers seems to have fallen out favor even among the Southern Gothic cannon. That's a loss. Here she takes on the notion of being an outsider in a small town, in closed minded society. There are issues of class, race, and sexual identity all well played, really a head of her time.
The novel lacks a clear protagonist. Is it Mick or Singer or Biff? Singer seems to be at the center of this group of misfits but he's a canvas for the other characters to project themselves on and he doesn't effect change. Mick is McCullers alter ego, but she remains very much in utero of adolescence, Biff's vision on the last page is the most gripping scene and hangs with reader after the book is closed.
The novel also goes into too much talk about the common socialist ideology of the time, this confines the novel to the time that it is written.

Wow, what took me so long to get to this! I am in love with Carson McCullers, and am putting on my list of "dead people I want to bring back to life" list.