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Patrick DewittA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
French Exit contains multiple discussions of life and death, with death often seen as another part of life. Through both Franklin’s possession of a cat and Frances’s cyclical relationship with Paris, Patrick deWitt shows that there is a circular nature to life’s stages.
When Frances and Malcolm first arrive in Paris, she confides, “I never wanted to live one life, […] I wanted to live three lives” (85). Frances does live three lives, or at least experiences three distinct stages of life: her childhood and adolescence, her marriage, and her life after Franklin’s death. In each of these stages, Frances’s relationship to Paris, and what it symbolizes for her, shifts accordingly. The city is a recurring motif in her life, and deWitt uses her changing perspective on Paris to illustrate how Frances feels about her life in general, and what each stage of her life means to her.
Frances first traveled to Paris as a young girl and remembers it fondly. In this first stage of her life, as she tells Susan, “I came here all the time. […] I loved it in a way that took me by surprise—startled me, actually” (218). She attributes this to the elegance of the city, but also a deeper relief that she “felt anonymous, as if all the consequences of Manhattan society were irrelevant” (218). Not only was she becoming aware for the first time that there was a world beyond the bubble of New York society that she lived in, but she also experienced the freedom of being outside that bubble. In her “first life,” France finds comfort and freedom in the anonymity and accompanying lack of expectations that she experiences in Paris.
However, upon returning to Paris with Franklin in the next stage of her life, her feelings about the city began to change. She speaks fondly of their honeymoon, telling Malcolm, “It’s strange to think [Franklin] was actually fun, but in the beginning he really was” (95). At first, Paris evokes the same feelings in Frances that she had as a girl; she even surprises Franklin by openly laughing, remembering, “I never laugh like that anymore, and rarely did then” (96). However, as her marriage gets more difficult, and the expectations placed on her with her position as Franklin’s wife, Frances’s second life becomes tense and constrained. Correspondingly, her feelings toward Paris change on visits during this time. As she tells Susan, “With Franklin here I was no longer anonymous, and he was the reasonable voice I’d been free of. He inhibited the way I walked, dressed, the way I spoke, everything” (218). With Franklin’s presence, New York has followed her, and along with it, the stress of her marriage and social position. Paris has been drained of everything that made it so attractive.
In her third life, after Franklin’s death, Frances begins to again experience freedom from social stricture. She returns to Paris with Malcolm and becomes “enamored of the place again, through him” (218). Later, when she and Malcolm move to Paris, she begins to feel the same freedom of her youth again. In addition, she brings Small Frank along, but her husband, in his next stage of life, is now ineffectual and powerless, and Frances feels no pressure from his expectations. When Joan offers Frances her Paris apartment, she offers not only a place to stay but a chance to return to Paris on different terms—as Frances says, “the third act if we’re to be honest. Or the coda, if you’d rather” (68), which is what deWitt labels the last part of the novel. In this third life, Frances circles back to the beginning. She is free of her husband, New York society, and most of her wealth. Paris once again means freedom and anonymity, as it did in her youth.
Both Frances and Malcolm have trouble connecting to the world, and to others, whether it be expressing their emotions, establishing relationships, or enjoying the simple pleasures of life. In the course of French Exit, both move subtly toward overcoming their inability to express themselves, gradually moving out of their comfort and class zones to connect with other people and the world.
Throughout her life, Frances has difficulty showing emotion, and although she makes progress in this area, her expressions of emotion shift subtly. At the beginning of the novel, she relies on her cold, reserved attitude and cutting witticism to keep people at a distance. Early on in her life, she is ignored by her mother, so expressing emotion verbally becomes pointless for her. Instead, she adopts the motif of fire as the main expression of any strong emotion or displeasure. The only outward sign of emotion that Frances uses at the beginning of the novel is through her use of her gold lighter, which she brandishes for attention and in protest. When she was young, Frances set her parents’ house on fire, recalling, “I had no wish for Mother to burn, but I knew she would react, and this was my dream” (200). Frances even uses the metaphor of fire to describe her youthful scandalous behavior, telling Malcolm, “I ran from one brightly burning disaster to the next” (55). Beyond these expressions, Frances remains largely superficially emotionless, with fire’s dangerous nature the only indicator of her emotion.
At the end of the novel, when she dons her red dress, it is the final expression of her inner emotion through the metaphor of fire. However, unlike the lighter, the dress is not an extrinsic expression, wielded like her lighter; it is her truest expression of emotion, manifested on her body. Even with these expressions, however, Frances still lacks an authentic connection with the world—these expressions are statements, not engagements. Frances must look to other ways to develop an authentic connection with the world. Frances also seemingly expresses no emotion when her husband dies, instead sitting with his body for a while and then going on a skiing trip.
With her introduction to Mme Reynard, Frances moves further toward a connection with other people that doesn’t involve money. Because of her wealth, throughout her life, Frances’s relationships have been largely transactional—her friendship with Joan is the only exception. She mostly connects with people through money, a fact established in the early pages of the novel when she offers an unhoused man 20 dollars in exchange for his honesty. However, Mme Reynard is not interested in Frances’s money—she is lonely, and looking for friendship. She is also disarmingly honest, saying, “Please don’t be cruel to me, […] It was difficult to get up the nerve to invite you over” (100). With her vulnerability and openness, Mme Reynard shows Frances what it takes to authentically connect with others. When Frances accepts Mme Reynard into her life, this results in more relationships, as each character invites another into her home. Notably, most of these people are from a lower class than she is accustomed to associating with. In a sign of her changing attitude toward connection, Frances allows these people to not only enter but stay. After her death, Malcolm comments on this shift, telling the police, “She always avoided strangers and hangers-on, but in the last week she became sort of a joiner” (238). Through her relationship with Mme Reynard, Frances is given a new perspective on what it means to connect with others.
Frances’s evolving connection with the world also involves her discovery of the simple pleasures of life, such as fruit. At the beginning of the novel, she dreams of “a juicy plum [that] eluded her, passed from hand to hand” (12). When she wakes, she orders a plum from room service, and although it is presented with all the luxury that her wealth affords, the fruit itself is tasteless and disappointing. Although her wealth protects her from some of the difficulties of life, it also insulates her from its pleasures, and this insulation is exacerbated by Frances’s own emotional reserve. Later in the novel, when she shares an orange with the man in the park, she connects with the world through the simple but powerful sensory pleasure of fresh fruit. This connection extends to the man himself, and the added pleasure of sharing: “They shared the orange. It was a pleasant moment for the both of them, and they were happy to’ve met” (168). The simplicity of the statement echoes the simplicity of the pleasure Frances feels. She carries this moment forward as she finds ways to transcend her earlier insulation from the world, to connect with it, and others, in simple yet meaningful ways. Although Frances isn’t completely able to overcome her customary distance from the world, she finds several ways to connect with other people.
Malcolm similarly finds connection as the novel unfolds. Though he is engaged to Susan, deWitt gives the impression that the two are not emotionally transparent. Susan loves him but cannot reach him in some ways. He is cocooned by the possessiveness of Frances, the insular bubble of the apartment, and his inherited social status, which he wears uneasily. When his father takes him as a boy to an exclusive club, he feels different from the other sons there and ends up throwing up and embarrassing his father. Similar to Frances, he did not have a connection to either of his parents when he was young and instead went to boarding school, where he mainly connected with the teachers and people older than him. It was not until his father died that he was removed from this isolating environment. Instead of this removal becoming an opportunity to expand socially, Frances homeschools him with an older woman. When he makes a connection with this older teacher, he is punished and instead forced to complete his education solitarily, by going to museums alone every day.
The journey to Paris thus becomes Malcolm’s ticket to connecting with others. On the cruise to France, Malcolm begins by making his own connection to Madeleine. He steps in when his mother is, at first, rude to Mme Reynard, whose friendship opens the door to more connections. As Malcolm observes a scene in the park from his window, he realizes that connecting with others is essential: A pigeon is shunned by its fellow birds before dropping dead and landing on a lone man, who looks around and realizes he has no one to share the odd experience with. Malcolm identifies with and pities both the pigeon and the man and feels a renewed desire to build relationships.
French Exit explores the failure to become independent through Malcolm’s narrative arc. Though Malcolm is in his thirties, deWitt shows that his actions are not those of a mature and independent adult. Despite being engaged to be married, Malcolm continues to live in his mother’s apartment and depend upon her wealth. Like a child, his loyalty to his mother supersedes his investment in his few other relationships, including his romantic relationship with his fiancée. The novel opens with Malcolm stealing a precious item from the host of a dinner party, which paints him as impulsive and confident that he will not be held accountable for his actions, again like a child. Malcolm is also often hiding. Sometimes Malcolm figuratively hides behind his mother’s exuberance or his family’s status, and sometimes he physically hides, such as when he secludes himself in the New York and Paris apartments. Malcolm is even hiding in Susan’s father’s closet when he begins his relationship with her. In this way, he avoids engagement and culpability at the expense of learning how to become independent.
Avoidance is a major part of Malcolm’s strategy as he moves through life. He avoids culpability for his thefts as he avoids uncomfortable topics. A common refrain from Malcolm when a distressing or awkward subject is broached is his response that he’s “not comfortable talking about it” (172). Even when he knows something is wrong with Frances, “a furtive look about her that he couldn’t name but that struck him as a manner of warning,” he tries to ignore it. He reacts not with concern, but with the feeling that he “didn’t want to be warned, he only wished to look away” (115). This strategy is not the only one, however, that Malcolm adopts to keep himself insulated from hurt.
Malcolm also adopts the tactic of passivity—that is, not trying. As a result of trying and failing to please the groundskeeper and headmistress at his boarding school, Malcolm decides to adopt passivity instead, which is a tactic he depends upon almost until the end of the book; when Tom tries to compete with him by arm-wrestling, Malcolm “offer[s] not the slightest resistance” (192). He stymies Tom, who complains, “It’s not winning if you win like that” (192). Malcolm once again manages to avoid potential failure and shame by simply not trying, and not engaging in competition with Tom.
However, by the end of the novel, Malcolm recognizes that these strategies are no longer serving him. With the death of his mother, he experiences a release from his seemingly permanent childhood and comes into his own. His changes, though small, are authentic, and after a lifetime of no engagement at all, represent a significant launch toward self-determination. When he gives Susan her father’s watch, he connects with her in a few ways. He makes himself accountable by returning a stolen item, and he shows that he has kept and worn the watch. His attachment to it illustrates his attachment to her, which he has been careful to hide. In addition, he ceremoniously puts it on her wrist, echoing the act of putting a ring on her finger, a commitment. In the closing paragraphs of the book, he decides to give his flowers to Susan because he “want[s] to be kind to Susan” (242). He acknowledges the uncharacteristic act, thinking “[s]he would be confused by the gesture” (242), but both the gesture and his self-recognition that it is uncharacteristic show how Malcolm is growing. Although his journey toward maturity is subtle, for Malcolm this movement is drastic, and shows he is ready to make efforts and commitments in life.
By Patrick Dewitt