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52 pages 1 hour read

Noah Hawley

Before the Fall

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2016

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Symbols & Motifs

Water

Water is omnipresent in Before the Fall, swallowing up the wreckage of the aircraft and the bodies of the victims. It has long been a central motif in Scott’s life, ever since he saw Jack LaLanne’s swim in San Francisco Bay. A champion swimmer in his teen years, Scott grounds himself in later life by returning to the activity. At the same time, he remains haunted by the drowning of his sister in Lake Michigan, to the extent that all the women he paints continue to have her face. The third painting the novel describes is itself set underwater.

Water—especially the idea of being underwater—also has numerous metaphorical resonances in the novel. The bar where Cunningham meets his informant, Namor, is called Swim!—not only is the décor nautical, but the quality of the lighting suggests being underwater, making it an ideal setting for facilitating nefarious and illegal deeds. More seriously, of course, the government investigators must go underwater to seek the remnants of the plane and the bodies of the passengers and crew. Truth, that is, cannot be limited to surfaces—it is what is underneath the water that matters. Still, even the attempts to recover the plane from the water remain partially incomplete, reinforcing the notion, implicit through the entire novel, that water, whether the Atlantic Ocean or Lake Michigan, remains radically outside of human control.

Scott’s Paintings

Scott’s art, paintings of disaster scenes described by Hawley in critical detail, become the focus of the FBI’s investigation as well as a component of Cunningham’s conspiracy theory. It’s more than a coincidence, he argues, that one of only two survivors of a plane crash has used disasters as the raw material for his art. Cunningham’s accusations never go beyond innuendo and speculation. He never offers proof or even a credible theory, but he does draw attention to the link between an artist’s work and their life. In Scott’s case, his disaster paintings were done prior to the plane crash, suggesting a fascination with death arising from a previous tragedy: his sister’s drowning. Scott uses his art as a way to both process the pain and wrestle with life’s big questions. He attempts to articulate these questions during his interview with Cunningham: “Why do things happen? Does it mean something?” (357). Art, by its very nature, is slippery and imprecise, and his answers don’t assuage Cunningham in the least. By attempting to define his art, however, Scott is defining his life and his trauma.

The final piece of art described in the narrative is simply the words: “WE ARE SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS” (352). This final piece represents a transition both in content and tone. Gone are the visual images of fires and tornados. In their place is a single phrase of condolence, perhaps genuine, perhaps ironic. The literal depictions of disaster—graphic yet objective—are replaced by defiance, a rebuke to those well-wishers who offer only empty words but no answers. That transition from emotional objectivity to emotional involvement suggests a step in the healing process, Scott’s ability to confront his trauma rather than objectify it.

Money

Much of the narrative is dedicated to the examination of wealth and its tangible manifestations. For many, wealth represents freedom from stress and toil, the ability to consume, travel, or simply live without worry. Eleanor’s husband, Doug, imagines all the things he could do with JJ’s inheritance, even though the money is not his for the taking. For those like Ben Kipling, money is the great divider between men like himself—bold, willing to seize life and manipulate it for his own glory—and everyone else, the mediocre masses. Money can also be a prison. Maggie Bateman, a preschool teacher before she marries David, feels the guilt of unearned wealth. The long hours David spends at work mean less time with his family, a tradeoff Maggie is not willing to continue to make. Further, their wealth has resulted in their daughter’s kidnapping and saddled them with round-the-clock bodyguards watching their every move, certainly an infringement on their freedom. Money is not solely the great liberator or a gilded cage, but it can be both simultaneously. For Ben Kipling, whose wealth is built on a foundation of crime, his cage might be literal.

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