The Frozen River

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2023

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Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Character Analysis

Themes

Symbols & Motifs

Important Quotes

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Symbols & Motifs

The Silver Fox

The silver fox who lives outside of the Ballard Mill, named Tempest by Martha, serves as a symbol of Martha’s feminine strength and individuality. Tempest’s gender is first revealed by trappers, who liken her to a virgin in a brothel (26). The sexual objectification of the fox aligns her with the local women of Hallowell, who are constantly subject to the objectifying gazes of the men around them. Martha feels this camaraderie fiercely and takes a particular interest in protecting Tempest from the trappers. For most of the novel, she refers to Tempest as “my fox,” and enjoys a pseudo-telepathic communication with her, reinforcing their affinity.

In the prologue and epilogue chapters (“What’s Past is Prologue” and “Now Our Revels are Ended”), the book deviates from its usual first-person perspective to a third-person omniscient perspective with the intended effect of centering Tempest as an active character in the story. “She sets one paw onto the ice,” the narrator observes, “Then another. She hesitates, for she knows how fickle the river can be” (4). This description mirrors descriptions of Martha’s cautious method of crossing the river. Just as the fox navigates the dangers of her wild world, Martha must navigate the dangers of her human one. This shared strength takes on a specifically feminine quality in light of their roles as mothers. The novel’s final words are a description of the fox’s female babies: “Slender and dark, like their mother. Silver. Rare” (415). The novel’s epilogue positions the process of raising a daughter in one’s own image, uniquely fierce in the face of Puritan Shame Culture and Gender Oppression, as the pinnacle of feminine achievement in the story.

The Lace

Over the course of the novel, lace becomes a symbol of rape survivors’ integrity and dignity—a symbolism understood by the men involved in the incidents of rape. Burgess steals lace from the dresses of both of the women he rapes as a “trophy” of his crimes: “He’d taken the lace, of course, and it is possible—fate is such a fragile thing, after all—that he might still be alive if not for that choice,” the omnipotent narrator of the prologue writes, “but it was insult on top of injury. Wars have been fought over less” (3). Lawhon reinforces this symbol when Sam makes sure to take the lace back from Burgess after killing him, metaphorically reclaiming May’s safety and dignity, both social and physical.

According to Rebecca Foster’s account of her rape, Burgess reinforced his violation of her by stealing the lace: “He ripped off the lace hem of my shift before he started. He tied his hair back. Why do I remember that so clearly?” (48). The delicacy of the lace, in contrast with the brutality of Burgess’s ripping motion symbolizes of the act of rape itself, a violent assault on Rebecca’s personal autonomy. Lawhon also associates lace with domestic spheres of female agency throughout the book. After moving in with Ephraim after their marriage, Martha remarks: “My hope chest still sat at home, filled with lace and linen and needlework. Filled with the things that I had been making since I was a child. The things that women use to create a home” (151). Lawhon frames lace as a product of female labor, an inherently feminine material, and Burgess’s desecration of it corresponds to his misogyny and violation of women.

The River

As the town’s most striking geographic feature, the Kennebec River serves as a recurring motif associated with death, danger, and the rhythm of life in Hallowell. Lawhon first introduces the river during the novel’s inciting incident: the discovery of Burgess’s body and the site of Sam’s near drowning, immediately establishing the immense power of the river wields in the eyes of the townspeople. As a force of nature unconcerned with human safety and often a threat to it, Lawhon’s depiction of the Kennebec mirrors Ulrich’s own description of the river in A Midwife’s Tale: “Hallowell folks remembered openings and closings of the river the way people in other towns remembered earthquakes or drought” (Ulrich 3).

In Hallowell, the river represents a power simultaneously lifegiving and treacherous. It allows for transportation of lumber across Maine, powers the mill wheel that enables the Ballards to make their living, and establishes the rhythm of life in Hallowell. It also freezes during the winter and flows during the spring and summer, alternately cutting the town off from the outside world or facilitating access to it. Martha’s respect for the river’s power underscores Lawhon’s characterization of her as cautious, savvy and wise, self-aware of her own human fallibility in a way that North and Page, the story’s male antagonists, are not. She executes her daily precarious crossing of its frozen surface during the winter months with obvious expertise. She reports, “Even though I know it will bear my weight, I proceed carefully, medical bag in one hand and the other outstretched, each footstep purposeful, listening for popping sounds, feeling for shifting and sinking beneath my feet” (301). Lawhon frames Martha’s ability to navigate the treacherous surface of the Kennebec as emblematic of her skilled navigation of life in Hallowell; faced with danger at every turn, Martha survives unharmed, respected in her work as a midwife.