Connection Failed: An Analysis of Christopher Isherwood’s [A Single Man]

Front cover of Christopher Isherwood's A Single Man (1964)

Front cover of Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man (1964)

Failure is found at the heart of many great works of fiction. It is a common motif used to spark an emotional connection, sympathy, and at times, anger. Failure is not only the heart of Christopher Isherwood’s A Single Man–is also the blood, the flesh, and the soul of this novel. Centered on a single day in the life of George Falconer–a gay professor from England who teaches literature at a University in Los Angeles–A Single Man traces the protagonist’s psyche as he tries to cope with the stagnant nature of living, and his inability to feel a sense of belonging or connection with those who surround him. Suffering from a chronic depression triggered by the death of his lover (Jim), George desperately struggles to find solace through unsuccessful attempts at forging meaningful interactions and relationships with other people.

The opening event of the novel focuses on George as he wakes up in the morning. Here, we are offered a very detailed and biological account of the processes that take place as a sleeping body is galvanized into a state of alertness. This opening scene creates a split between George’s body and George’s being–a motif that becomes quite prominent within the novel. Throughout the day the novel takes place, George undergoes experiences that separate his thoughts from the actions that his body partakes in–almost as if his body were engaging in auto-pilot mode, leaving the pilot of his consciousness free to do and think whatever he pleases. This auto-pilot mode is activated in many occasions:

  • When George drives to his university, his thoughts wander away as his body automatically drives to its destination: “And George, like a master who has entrusted the driving of a car to a servant, is now free to direct his attention elsewhere” (36).
  • When he teaches, he enters a mode where he begins to spew theory, facts, and jargon without being completely cognizant of what he is saying to his students.
  • When he drinks, he engages in reckless behavior, such as swimming in a rough sea during the night, even though his mind is aware of the dangers of doing so.

The novel’s tendency of splitting George’s mind away from his body fosters an effect in which the reader perceives him as a composition of many selves and not as a single individual–thus emphasizing the novel’s central characteristic of approach life, time, and space as fragmented phenomena. This fragmentation, while very postmodern in effect, serves to illustrate the sense of disconnection and the lack of wholeness that George feels towards his surroundings. Even when looking himself in the mirror, George is unable to see himself as an individualized unit:

Staring and staring into the mirror, it sees many faces within its face–the face of a child, the boy, the young man, the not-so-young man–all present still, preserved like fossils on superimposed layers, and, like fossils, dead. Their message to this live dying creature is: Look at us–we have died–what is there to be afraid of? (11)

While staring at his reflection, George sees the phantoms of his past lives–lives that he considers present but dead; relics of a life that he used to have but that is no longer present. George recognizes this fragmentation, and he struggles to defy it so that others perceive him as ‘the whole George they demand and are prepared to recognize” (11). George is characterized by being overly concerned about what other people think about him. When other characters are talking to him, George’s mind engages in a frantic interpretive mode in which he tries to determine what is going through the other speaker’s mind. However, the inability to know exactly what others are thinking of him leads George to think obsessively about the failure of language to convey ideas in an accurate or precise fashion. Language, therefore, is a contributing factor that adds to George’s notions on fragmentation and the lack of wholeness in his life.

George’s nationality and his sexuality are other elements that fuel his sense of self-fragmentation and his inability to fully connect with others. He constantly claims how his British identity converts him into an Other within academic and non-academic contexts. His sexuality pushes him to feel a desire that is nearly impossible to quench–thus forcing George to live vicariously through small interactions, touches, and brief exchanges that he has with other men. One of these moments takes place when he accompanies one of his students, Kenny, to a book store. Kenny offers to buy George a pencil sharpener, which causes George to blush “as if he has been offered a rose” (81). What is clear here is that George is a man who is starving for connection. He craves to feel part of whole, even if this connection with the whole is momentary. He makes it overtly clear that his nationality, his way of thinking, his sexuality, and even his age puts him in a position in which he is minority. This sense of dissatisfaction with not belonging to a majority leads him to deliver a “sermon” in class, in which he attacks people’s conceptions of minority communities:

A minority has its own kind of aggression. It absolutely dares the majority to attack it. It hates the majority–not without a cause, I grant you. It even hates the other minorities, because all minorities are in competition: each one proclaims that its sufferings are the worst and its wrongs are the blackest. And the more they all hate, the more they’re all persecuted, the nastier they become! Do you think it makes people nasty to be loved? You know it doesn’t! They why should it make them nice to be loathed? (72)

His passionate tirade against minority cultures is longer than the fragment I’ve included above, but I hope this passage emphasizes the degree of self-loathing and confusion that George feels towards himself for being unable to become part of a greater collective. He always has been and always will be a minority. His efforts to be part of something greater than the self always fail–even the connection that he had with Jim is severed with the latter dies in a tragic car accident. George even admits that he is living makes him part of a minority, while those who have joined the rank of the dead are part of a majority:

George is very far, right now, from sneering at any of these fellow creatures. They may be crude and mercenary and dull and low, but he is proud, is glad, is almost indecently gleeful to be able to stand up and be counted in their ranks–the ranks of that marvelous minority, The Living. They don’t know their luck, these people on the sidewalk, but George knows his–for a little while at least–because he is freshly returned from the icy presence of The Majority, which [his dying friend] is about to join. (103-4)

This passage is an eerie foreshadowing to the events that culminate the novel. As George is drunkenly walking towards his usual bar after leaving his friend’s house, he encounters Kenny alone at said bar. The two get really drunk, and they end up swimming together naked in the salty rough waves of the sea in the middle of the night. It is here that George feels a brief connection with Kenny that “transcends” the symbolic. Kenny returns home with George, leading into a scene that seems like an obvious exchange of flirtation between the two. However, despite the fact that George desires to sleep with Kenny, he ends up passing out, awakening alone in his bed–where he decides to masturbate as a way of compensating for his failure to connect with Kenny, sexually speaking.

As the novel comes to a close, George ends up in his bed once again. In a circuitous fashion, the novel ends with George’s mind disconnecting from his body, returning once again to the description of the biological processes that his body is going through as it begins to fall asleep. Unexpectedly, George dies of a heart attack during his sleep. George’s life is characterized not only by a failure to connect with others, but also by a failure to be part of a whole during his life. It’s thus heart-wrenching to realize that the only instance in which he becomes part of a majority is through his death.

This novel is simply beautiful, rich, and complex. There is much more than can be said about this novel, especially in terms of its approaches to time and temporality, especially when contrasting the importance of the past, the present, and the future. This is definitely a novel that I want to revisit once again after I’ve had time to process it a little more.

Comments? Questions? Suggestions? As always, please feel free to add to the conversation!

Work Cited

Isherwood, Christopher. A Single Man. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1964. Print (Hardcover edition).

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10 thoughts on “Connection Failed: An Analysis of Christopher Isherwood’s [A Single Man]

  1. Ruby says:

    Having recently studied this book, I am amazed at the succinct way you are able to highlight and analyse the complex ideas of the novel. Any thoughts on the ‘rock pools’ and collective consciousness? I know Isherwood was interested in this idea

    • Angel Daniel Matos says:

      Thanks for you comment, Ruby! I think Isherwood’s comments on rock pools towards the end of the novel further emphasize the notions of connection, collectivity, and disconnect prevalent within the novel. As Isherwood points out, “you may think of a rock pool as an entity; though, of course, it is not.” In other words, we may be tempted to view a rock pool as a single body of water, but through this view, we fail to acknowledge the depth and complexity of the rock pool. Not only are rock pools connected to larger bodies of water, but they are constituted by layer of material, organisms, and other objects. We can thus interpret this as a call for recognizing our own lives as interconnected–our lives are not isolated or hermetic. Whether or not you interpret this as a recognition of collective consciousness, I do think that the image of the rock pool pushes us to question whether the notion of a singular, separate, and individualistic life is even possible.

  2. Michalle says:

    I’m curious about why you thought (on Twitter) that the movie didn’t work? I saw it without reading the book (which I intend to read but haven’t read yet) and liked it but could imagine that it wouldn’t be able to get at as much of George’s inner life as a novel. Was that the issue or was it something else?

    • Angel Daniel Matos says:

      Are you referring to the tweet recently published by Ruben Quesada? I think that by sharing my discussion on Isherwood’s novel, Quesada meant to highlight precisely what you point out: the film version “fails” to give George the sense of interiority that he is given in the novel. Of course, interiority is an elements that is difficult to convey in a film. Voice-over can be used, but many film-goers find voice-over to be distracting and ineffective. However, perhaps it is worth exploring how interiority is conveyed through space and mise-en-scène. What are your thoughts on this?

  3. Alberto says:

    I’ve found this article very important.
    I’m from Italy, and i want to base my oral exam (in italy at the end of the last year of high school we have to make some exams, and the most important of them is the oral exam, we call it “esame di maturità orale”) on the Christoper Isherwood’s novel.
    I have to find some links with Philosophy, History of Art, History (i already have it—–>i want to take the “Cold War”) and the other subjects.
    I really want to carry forward this project, i believe that this novel has a lot of material to work.
    If you have some advice please tell my i would be very grateful.

    Thank you for this marvellous analysis.

    • Angel Daniel Matos says:

      Thank you for your kind words, Alberto! I’m glad that you found my blog post so useful! Something that I’ve been thinking about a lot in terms of this novel are the notions of location and space. These are especially important given that the novel centers on the experiences of a British man within the United States, especially during a time that was so politically and historically charged. I think that there is much that can be said about the relationships that exist between the protagonist’s development in relationship to spaces and environments (and not only national spaces, but spaces such as homes and bars as well). Have you decided to continue on with this project? Let me know if you’d like to discuss any other details about the novel!

  4. theosweeting says:

    This is a fantastic blog post and one I will certainly be directing my students to.

    I am going to teach this next year to high school students alongside Mrs Dalloway and One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, A) because of the obvious circadian comparison, but B) because of what you have mentioned about time. I think there is an interesting comparison between how George and Solzhenitsyn’s stand in in Denisovich experienced the same historical ‘moment’ in such contradictory ways. Perhaps something to say about human suffering too?

    Although the better comparison would be Clarissa Dalloway and Woolf’s idea of digging out caves behind her characters. I think the post-modern fragmentation you mention here is reflected Woolf’s form, and I hope I can get some interesting comparisons between the ways in which Clarissa’s homosexual experience, the happiest moment of her life, is constantly reiterated but she is never fully conscious of its repercussions, mostly due to the stifling conformity of the British class system. It seems to parallel the ideas about autopilot you’ve discussed here in Isherwood. For both authors, it is almost as if you can experience one individual moment across time and experience the present in ways you are not even aware of.

    I think one thing the Ford film does do well is this idea of the moment, how time is not simply chronological but somehow iterative and that repetition of these moments can dictate and define consciousness. The opening establishes the role of imagination in this, how even fictive memories can come to define how we see our present.

    • Angel Daniel Matos says:

      This sounds so fascinating! Please let me know how paring these texts goes in the classroom. I have yet to teach this text in class, but I’m thinking about incorporating it into a queer literature course that I’m teaching in the fall.

      And you’re absolutely right in terms of how the film approaches the “moment,” a notion that is perhaps much better rendered through the visual rather than the textual.

      Thanks for your comment, and make sure to let me know how teaching these texts goes!

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