The Truth About The Harry Quebert Affair

“It was a writer’s house, with an ocean view and a deck with a steep staircase that took you straight down to the beach. All around was a tranquil wilderness: the coastal forest, the shoreline of shells and boulders, the damp thickets of ferns and moss, a few walking trails that ran alongside the beach. If you didn’t know civilization was only a few miles away, you might easily believe yourself to be at the end of the earth. It was also easy to imagine yourself an old writer here, producing masterpieces out on the deck, inspired by the tides and the light on the ocean.” 

The “end of the earth” landscape is a strong symbol for the isolation creativity needs to blossom. Epithets like “steep,” “tranquil,” and “damp” combined with their signifiers (especially the oxymoronic “tranquil wilderness”) are ambiguous and invite thoughts of both safety and risk—another metaphor for successful creative work. The view of the water expanse implies breadth of scope for thought and imagination, and the closeness of the beach offers the possibility of relaxation. The quote is a reminder of the inspired tension between focus and freedom.

“Harry was all I had in life, and, curiously, I didn’t need to know if he was guilty or not; that fact would not in any way alter our deep bond of friendship. It was a strange feeling: I think I would have liked to hate him, to spit in his face while the nation watched; that would have been simpler. But these events did not affect the feelings I had for him in the slightest. At worst, I thought, he is a man, and men have demons. Everyone has demons. The question is simply to know up to what point those demons can be tolerated.” 

Marcus’s relationship with Harry is complex. On the one hand, Harry is his mentor, his friend, and a father figure. On the other, he is a rival for Marcus, whose talent seems to eclipse his own. The possibility of Harry’s guilt complicates Marcus’s feelings even further; as in ancient legends, Marcus needs to come to terms with his own ascendancy over his symbolic father. Marcus attempts to understand Harry because he loves him, but the rival jealousy shows itself in the ambiguity of his reactions.  

“From this I came to understand that in order to be magnificent, all that was needed was to distort the way others perceived me; in the end, everything was a question of appearances.”

In this quote, Dicker offers a wise and comprehensive understanding of human nature. Utilizing the epithet “magnificent” in connection with the young and morally ambivalent Marcus, the author creates an opportunity to show how our attitudes and appearances shape and sometimes trick the perceptions of others around us. Additionally, by giving Marcus valuable insight into his own dubious behavior, he offers a chance for the character’s future redemption, which is the linchpin of the plot. 

“[W]hat I was seeking was the ability to be weak; I was claiming the right to be beaten by someone stronger than I was, the right to lose face. This was the only way I could escape the monster of perfection I had created. In that boxing gym, Marcus the Magnificent could lose; he could be bad at something. And the real Marcus could exist. Because, little by little, my obsession with being number one was growing beyond imagining. The more I won, the more terrified I became of losing.”

Adolescence is a time of incredible tension within human beings. Through Marcus’s journey of understanding himself in relation to the world and becoming true to who he is, the author gives a metaphor of every coming-of-age process. Here he juxtaposes the desire for an perfect self-image with the need to assess our own qualities realistically so that we can grow into ourselves. 

“‘You know, you have lots of potential, but essentially, what I read was bad. Very bad, in fact. Utterly worthless. And the same is true for all the other stories by you I’ve been able to read in the magazine. It’s criminal, cutting down trees to print crap like that. There just aren’t enough forests for the number of bad writers in this country. Something must be done.’

My blood ran cold. I felt as if I had been sucker punched. So it turned out that Harry Quebert, the king of literature, was also the king of bastards.” 

Joël Dicker gives us precious insight into how the relationship between the mentor, Harry, and his student, Marcus, begins to function properly. By being brutally honest, Harry shows that he understands what prevents Marcus from being truly excellent: his own self-protecting yet overblown sense of worth. The author uses hyperbole in two instances: through Harry’s carefully chosen wording, which underlines Marcus’s youthful lack of proper direction, and through Marcus’s automatically negative reaction to criticism that is common for adolescents. 

“You know how to fight. But look at you—you only ever measure yourself against that pathetic, skinny kid whom you batter with such smugness that it makes me want to vomit. You fight him only because you know you’re guaranteed to beat him. That makes you a weakling, Marcus. A chicken. A spineless ninny. A nothing, a zero, a bluffer, a waste of space. You’re just a sham. And the worst thing is that you’re perfectly happy with that. Measure yourself against a real opponent!”

Another useful lesson for the adolescent Marcus Goldberg: It is one thing to know how to do something and quite another to use that knowledge properly. This quote is a continuation of the tough love method Harry employs with Marcus because he understands that is the only way cocky Marcus will be able to learn. The author uses this scene to send a message to his readers that it is through worthy fights that we establish our value and our strength.

“‘Why did you become a writer, Harry?’

The author utilizes poetic diction to illustrate the lofty ideals that Harry’s character proposes to Marcus and, by extension, to the readers. Positioning the issue of art as a life-affirming venture and as something that supplies the invaluable sense of purpose, Dicker uses Harry as a vehicle for contemplating the idea that it is our duty to find the necessary drive and tenacity of spirit through meaningful actions. 

“‘Barnaski wants me to do a hatchet job! It’s out of the question. I don’t want to write a book like that—a piece of garbage churned out in a few weeks. Good books take time.’

‘But this is the way it is today! Writers who hang around in a daydream waiting for inspiration to come…all that is in the past! Everyone wants your book, even without your having written a single word of it, because everybody wants to know the truth. And they want it now.’” 

One of the leitmotifs in this novel is the contrast between art as a humanistic endeavor and art as a commercially viable venture. Douglas the agent and Barnaski the publisher are purveyors of the latter concept, and it is clear through the diction Dicker uses that he disagrees with consumerist depreciation of artistic integrity. Marcus balances between the two ideas, but here we see that he is attempting to honor not just his friend and the dead girl but the art of writing itself. Douglas here uses the concept of truth as his argument for delivering a book that is not rooted in deep research.

“I was young, self-confident, good-looking, athletic, and cultivated, and not only that, but I lived in the beautiful Goose Cove house. The people in the town, even if they’d never heard of me before, assumed I was successful because of the way I acted and the place where I lived. That was all it took for the locals to imagine that I was a big celebrity in New York. So, overnight, I became someone.”

This experience of Harry’s is an echo of similar issues raised in Marcus’s recollections of fostering of a false image in high school. The small community of Somerset is naïve in its understanding of how the world at large functions. Therefore, it is relatively easy to create an illusion of value predicated on the ignorance of others, and this testifies to a weakness in character that Harry, having experienced it himself, tries to eliminate in Marcus. Dicker uses the motif of appearances versus reality throughout the book.

“‘Harry, how can you be sure you always have the strength to write books?’

‘Some people have it, some don’t. You will have it, Marcus. I know you will.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘Because it’s in you. Like a disease. Because the writers’ disease isn’t an inability to write anymore, it’s being incapable of stopping.’” 

In comparing the process of writing to a disease, the author creates a complex image that combines two extremes: the urgent necessity to create something finite and finished, and the incurable inability to stop creating. Although these two extremes at first glance seem contradictory, they are in fact two sides of the same coin. By describing the process of writing as requiring strength, Dicker implies that inspiration is never enough for the act of creation; it requires stamina and perseverance.

“You started writing because you had to write a book, not because you wanted to give your life meaning. Doing something just for the sake of doing it never works. So it isn’t surprising that you were incapable of writing a single line. The gift of being able to write is a gift not because you write well, but because you’re able to give your life meaning.” 

Marcus begins his new book because his publisher demands it from him. His inability to write it serves as a metaphor for the uselessness and moral incorrectness of attempting to perform an act of creation as a duty or obligation. We notice here that Harry still takes on a mentor role for Marcus because it is obvious Marcus still has not set his priorities straight—although doing so would, ironically, eliminate his stress over what he should do, and how. In this sense, the novel represents Marcus’s journey of discovering what writing is for him.

“Words are for everybody, until you prove that you are capable of appropriating them. That’s what defines a writer. You see, Marcus, some people would like you to believe that a book consists of relationships between words, but that’s not true: It is in fact about relationships between people.” 

Another one of Harry’s Rules for Writers, this is an example of the authorial process itself. Dicker uses metanarrative techniques of referring to his own creative process within the world of the novel in order to emphasize the artifice that is a work of art, but also the truth that this artifice must contain so it can fulfill its purpose. To own the words means to control the narrative, and this in turn means to create out of verbal combinations real connections and characters.

“‘You just need to tell the truth, Marc. Tell the truth about Nola Kellergan.’

‘What if the truth harms Harry?’

‘You have to tell the truth, anyway. It’s your responsibility as a writer. No matter how difficult it is. That’s my advice as a friend.’” 

Even though the author positions Marcus’s agent, Douglas, at a crossing point between an exacting and callous colleague and an ambivalent friend, in this quote he comes across the divide to offer a truly friendly piece of advice. This act signifies the ability of some people to surprise us by showing a human side where we have learned to see only the professional obligation. By insisting that Marcus should tell the truth, Douglas reinforces the idea that writing as an art form is the writer’s duty and desire to communicate his own version of reality. In the context of Nola Kellergan, the truth of her death ultimately trumps Marcus’s personal feelings toward Harry. 

“Barnaski had his response all ready and rubber-stamped by his legal department. ‘If the investigation is finished, it’s a true story. If not, we leave it open, you suggest the ending, and it’s a novel. Legally they can’t touch us, and for readers it makes no difference. And in fact, it’s even better if the investigation isn’t over, because we could do a sequel. What a godsend!’” 

On the opposite end of the spectrum from Marcus and Harry is Roy Barnaski, who believes that the written word is a commodity auctioned off to the highest bidder for maximum impact. There is no room for empathy, consideration, or emotion in his world of legal loopholes, marketing ploys, and indiscriminate manipulation. This quote represents the essence of his lax morality. 

“‘But you must be aware that some of your popularity comes from you being young and good-looking.’

‘Good-looking? Are you serious?’

‘Come on, Marc, you convey a certain image. As I told you, you’re cool. Everybody likes you. You’re like a good friend, a mysterious lover, the ideal son-in-law, all wrapped up in one friendly package. That’s why The Harry Quebert Affair will be such a big success.’” 

Barnaski here reveals some of the hard truths behind the world of contemporary publishing. Facts that have nothing to do with the quality of writing a writer produces will to a large extent determine his marketability and the inclination of the public to either accept or reject his work. Popularity, especially for a young author, today lies in his projected image outside of his creation. The author of the novel, Joël Dicker, is himself a young, handsome man much like his protagonist, so the musings he offers within the novel could serve as potential insights into his reality. 

“You’re a slave to your career, your ideas, and your success. You’re a slave to your condition. To write is to be dependent. Not only on the people who read your books, but on those who don’t. Freedom is complete bullshit. Nobody’s free. I hold part of your freedom in my hands, just as the company’s shareholders hold part of mine in theirs. Such is life, Goldman. Nobody’s free. If people were free, they would be happy. How many genuinely happy people do you know?” 

That this cynical worldview comes from Roy Barnaski is not at all surprising. It is interesting, however, that Dicker offers this perspective ostensibly as part of his contemplation of the world of publishing, even though, in the novel as construct, it has larger connotations. Words like “career,” “ideas,” “success,” and “freedom” may equally refer to the main plotline, as many characters’ careers are destroyed, their freedom is curtailed, ideas are brought into question, and the success of one enterprise (finding Nola’s murderer) brings about the ruin of another (the almost successful concealment of Nola’s fate). Additionally, Marcus is a slave to his desire to know the truth and to save his friend. Thus, Barnaski’s words reveal in a sense the core thematic scope of the novel.

“Learn to love your failures, Marcus, because it is your failures that will make you who you are. It is your failures that will give meaning to your victories.” 

The idea that repeated failure is the path to success and better understanding of oneself has been a long-term tenet of philosophy with thinkers such as Francis Bacon (17th century), Sigmund Freud (early 20th century), and contemporary Daniel Dennett (who refers to one’s mistakes as one’s works of art). In this quote, the author underscores the concept through Harry’s words to Marcus in reference not only to writing but also to life in general. We also understand that Harry speaks from a wealth of experience that he is willing to share with the young Marcus in his quest to become a better man.

“It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. What matters is how you fight between the first bell and the last one. The result of the match is just a piece of news for the public. Who can say you lost if you feel like you’ve won? Life is like a foot race, Marcus: There will always be people who are faster than you, and there will always be those who are slower than you. What matters, in the end, is how you ran your race.” 

The most significant aspect of this quote is the imagery the author employs to communicate his meaning fully. Positioning the vicissitudes of life as a boxing match or a foot race helps bring the ideas of staying power, persistence, and determination closer to the reader. As with most of Harry’s advice to Marcus, this is also primarily a life lesson. 

“Tamara shrugged and rested her head on the armrest of the couch. She thought about it for a moment.

‘Because…because I don’t want her to end up alone.’

‘So you’re afraid your daughter will be alone for the rest of her life?’

‘Yes! Exactly! For the rest of her life!’

‘What about you? Are you afraid of solitude?’

‘Solitude is death.’

‘Are you afraid of dying?’

‘I’m terrified of death, Doctor.’” 

Tamara Quinn is one of the most complex characters in the novel. She is outwardly abusive, abrasive, and intolerant, yet this quote shows her at her most vulnerable. The author pinpoints two key themes within Tamara’s fear, from which stems her problematic behavior: Her motherly worry that Jenny will remain alone and lonely, and her own fear of loneliness, which to her equals non-existence. The position of her body as she “rested her head” on the couch indicates how tired she is from keeping up the façade of a strong woman, especially as even she realizes that her attempts at appearing strong read as being vicious.

“‘Untel doesn’t write his own books?’

He gave his usual snigger. ‘Of course not! How the hell could he write that quickly? The readers don’t want to know how Untel writes his books, or even who writes them. All they want, each summer, is to have a new Untel to read on their vacation. So we give it to them. It’s called business.’

‘It’s called cheating the public,’ I said.

‘“Cheating the public”—Jesus, you’re such a drama queen!’” 

This quote offers more in-depth revelations of how the contemporary publishing world functions. Dicker utilizes a fictional popular writer to exemplify the phenomenon of ghostwriting. The author again conveniently juxtaposes Marcus’s naïve and idealistic outlook with Barnaski’s jaded and cynical perspective. Interestingly, this time the publisher also implicates the reading public as part of the scheme in an unusual, inverted form of the writer-work-reader trifecta, now focused on commercial performance instead on the cultural reception of art.

“‘He’s sad,’ I explained.

‘Sad? We won, and he’s sad?’

‘He’s sad because Nola is dead.’

‘But she’s been dead for thirty-three years.’

‘But now she’s really dead.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Goldman.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’” 

This is an excellent example of characterization through dialogue. The conversation between morally corrupt lawyer Benjamin Roth and Marcus Goldman manages to shed light not just on the two of them as characters but also on Harry Quebert as their topic of conversation. The repetition of the word “sad’” so that it almost starts to lose meaning is in keeping with Roth’s inability to understand the emotion in this context, after Harry’s court victory. Similarly, the subtle yet emphatic difference in the meaning of the word “dead” in Roth’s and Marcus’s iterations underlines Roth’s lack of empathy, and there is not anything surprising in the fact that the two characters talk at cross purposes as they are so vastly different one from another.

“Writers’ heaven is the place where you decide to rewrite your life the way you wish you had lived it. Because a writer’s power, Marcus, is that he gets to decide the ending of the book. He has power over life and death; he has the power to change everything. Writers have more power in their fingertips than they imagine. All they have to do is close their eyes and they can change an entire lifetime.” 

This novel contains a clear metafictional element that allows the author to play with the conventions of the crime fiction genre. By removing the reader from the plot itself onto the level of contemplating and understanding how an author is creating the novel, this postmodern tendency demystifies the process of creation, while exposing its intricacies. The idea of “writers’ heaven” is a continuation of the thematic arc that starts with “writers’ disease” and moves to “writers’ cure,” and all three are metaphors for the process of creating the book.

“You stole a book! What greater crime could a writer commit? The Origin of Evil—that’s why you gave the book that title. And I couldn’t understand why such a beautiful book should have such a dark title. But the title has nothing to do with the book; it has to do with you. You always told me that a book is not a relationship between words; it’s a relationship between people. That book is the origin of evil that has gnawed at you ever since: the evil of remorse and imposture.” 

Marcus finally verbalizes the most significant issue of contention with Harry—his stealing of Caleb’s manuscript represents an embodiment of the idea that despite all advice to the contrary, Harry has not been able to lift himself up above his irrational desires. This is the symbolic confrontation of a son with his aging father (one of the oldest archetypes, from the Greek gods to the Fisher King), but, more importantly, with his corrupted father, who is no longer able to represent an ideal or a model, which is when the son comes into his own maturity and adulthood. In speaking these words to Harry while ending their friendship, Marcus symbolically frees himself from the past and from the book he has written, so that he is free to become who he is meant to be—and see Harry for who he is.