At a first glance, the
way E. L. Doctorow treats his characters is seemingly meaningless. But upon
closer inspection, one can see how postmodern it is. In traditional literature,
at least in my experience, there are three general ways in which the authors treat
their characters: (1) all of the characters are seen from a distance, (2) all
of the characters’ thoughts are written down in explicit detail, or (3) the
author pays more attention to the thoughts of the main characters than the
supporting ones. Doctorow does none of these. Rather, when he focuses on the
thoughts of a character, it’s typically a means to add irony to a scene. An
example of this might be when Mother’s Younger Brother sees the living room
where the rest of the family sits as “suffocating.” Normally, attention
wouldn’t be brought to something as trivial as a scene where the family merely
sits quietly in their home, but Doctorow turns it into something very dramatic;
at least in the eyes of Younger Brother.
Conversely, when something
important is happening in the story, Doctorow backs off and lets us form our
own opinions. For example, when Coalhouse Walker is being confronted by
volunteer firemen, rather than getting into Coalhouse’s mind to see if his
thoughts match his calm exterior, Doctorow sits back and lets the scene play
out. Given how Doctorow treats all of his other characters, this gives
Coalhouse a certain significance in the story. The author is no longer playing
with history and creating strange vignettes that combine the magic of fiction
and the solidness of history. Now, he’s transported us to a world that could
potentially have historical truth to it.
However, one shouldn’t
take this completely seriously. In a way, I think Doctorow is playing with our
minds. He throws us into a world of insanity, where babies are found in
gardens, and fictional characters interact with historical ones, and then yanks
us out to drop us in a more realistic setting. Then, after you’ve grown
accustomed to the seriousness of the situation, he tosses you right back in
with the fictional madness. It’s a
clever tactic, and I believe it enhances the story in a way that doesn’t bring
attention to the fact that he’s playing with us. This way, rather than focusing
all of our energy on figuring out the what/why/how of this strategy, we’re free
to look at other parts of the story.
