38 pages • 1 hour read
Jeanette WintersonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The narrator investigates various parts of the body, beginning with the functions of the cell. The narrator explain “mitosis,” a term referring to the process of the multiplication of cells, and note that Louise’s thymus gland is “making too much of herself” (115), that is, overproducing white cells that interfere with the function of the spleen.
The narrator imagines acting as a sentry capable of protecting Louise from these invading cells by crawling inside her body and asking, “Who comes here?” (115). The narrator realizes that Louise must fight these trespassers on her own.
Next, the narrator reflects on the tissues, which one can see with “the naked eye.” The narrator reminisces about the narrator’s intimate knowledge of Louise’s body, describing her various bodily tissues, including the scars on Louise’s mouth and thighs, as well as the injuries that caused them.
The narrator moves to the cranial cavity and the brain, identifying with an archeologist exploring the mausoleum of Louise’s body. The narrator discusses the impact of age upon the head: flaring nostrils, deepened eye sockets, slackened mouth, and enlarged ears signal that “the body is making way for worms” (119).
The narrator describes Louise’s head in detail, particularly the much-admired “strong front of your forehead and the long crown” (119). Continuing to use archaeological imagery, the narrator imagines cataloguing and storing Louise’s organs “in plastic like chicken livers” (120). The narrator imagines being freed from the exploration of the lover’s body in the same way that Jonah is “coughed up from the whale” (120), but the narrator always reverts back to the sense of being physically embedded within Louise.
Next, the narrator analyzes the skin, noting that dead skin cells are constantly being shed and marveling that “the piece of you I know best is already dead” (123). At the same time, the narrator describes Louise as a knight encased in armor: “the dermis is renewing itself, making another armadillo layer” (123). This image contrasts with the narrator’s observation that leukemia would render Louise’s skin fragile, thereby precluding the possibility of any sexual roughness.
Despite the visceral imagery, the narrator notes that sweat, grime, bruises, and disease are not repugnant so long as they pertain to Louise. The narrator recalls Louise’s skin as white and fresh while considering the possibility of future distention and discoloration: “if you are broken then so am I” (125).
The narrator then begins to explore various parts of the skeleton, beginning with the clavicle. The narrator points out that the name of this bone shares a word root with a musical instrument, the clavichord. The narrator recalls a time when the narrator tried to spread the lowest parts of Louise’s collarbone out and Louise asked whether the narrator intended to strangle her. The narrator responded, “No, I [want] to fit you, not just in the obvious ways but in so many indentations” (129). Although the narrator has always imagined “difference” to be the biggest element in sexual attraction, the narrator realizes that, with Louise, “so many things about us […] are the same” (129).
Next, the narrator studies the scapula, or shoulder blade. The narrator describes Louise as a “fallen angel” (131), noting that if the narrator is careless with Louise, the narrator could slice the narrator’s own palm on the “sharp side of the scapula” (131). The narrator also compares Louise to Pegasus, the mythical winged horse, and exhorts Louise to “nail me to you” (131).
Finally, the narrator recollects Louise’s face, “mirror-smooth and mirror-clear” (132). The narrator remembers having held Louise’s face when she fell on an icy pond, and the narrator anticipates the physical impact of death on a body, including loosened, yellowed skin and bones turned into “tusks” (132). The narrator personifies death as a person pulling down the skin’s curtain “to expose the bony cage behind” (132).
The narrator turns to a discussion of the senses. First, the narrator considers the speed of sound waves while the narrator admits that the narrator calls for Louise from the doorstep of the cottage and keens “in the fields to the moon” (135). The narrator compares the narrator’s behavior to that of zoo animals who cry out at night in an effort to attract others of their species, noting that “they would choose predator and prey against this outlandish safety” (135). The narrator want to hear Louise’s voice again.
The narrator then recalls the myriad smells associated with Louise’s body, comparing her to a “kitchen cooking partridge,” a “perfumier of sandalwood and hops” (136), and “frankincense and myrrh.” The narrator refers to her as “Madonna of the Incense” (136).
During a discussion of the sense of taste, the narrator refers to Louise as “an olive tree” whose fruit is “pungent and green” (137). The narrator describes the experience of tasting olive juice containing “the weight of the land, the vicissitudes of the weather, even the first name of the olive keeper” (137). The narrator envisions the bright sun contained in the mouth of the eater.
Louise’s beautiful red hair is explored through the speed of light, as the narrator notes that “every colour has a different wavelength; red light has the longest” (138). According to the narrator, the rest of the color spectrum is absorbed, but red remains indelible.
The narrator also describes running into the sunset with outstretched arms in an effort to careen from the side of the world into the “fiery furnace” (138) that is Louise. The narrator exhorts Louise, in prayer-like fashion, to “come in tongues of flame and restore my sight” (139).
This section again centers the physicality of romance through various metaphors related to the body. While the initial tone of each anatomical essay in this section is that of a documentary, the author moves into poetic allegory when applying scientific knowledge to Louise’s body.
The narrator imagines the narrator variously as: a guardian against the multiplying white cells in Louise’s body, a pilot who knows Louise’s body as “my landing strip” (117), and an archaeologist of “that impressive mausoleum” (119) that is the body of the beloved.
The narrator describes Louise’s body in vivid, visceral terms, with frequent reference to food imagery. Her skin is “milk-white” and “fresh to drink” (125); her taste is like that of a “pungent and green” olive (137). The idea of purity also recurs in these images; she is described as a “fallen angel” whose shoulder blades harbor wings (131) and likened to a “brightly lit room” (138).
Religious and Biblical imagery is also pervasive in this section, reflecting the author’s familiarity with Christian beliefs. The narrator wishes to be “coughed up” from Louise’s body “like Jonah from the whale” (120), and a discussion of scent leads to a description of Louise as “Madonna of the Incense,” replete with references to “frankincense and myrrh” (136). These references not only illuminate the narrator’s feelings of reverence toward Louise but also link romance to death. For example, frankincense and myrrh were precious substances, offered to Jesus at his birth, but they were also used to prepare dead bodies for burial. Louise is described as a “coat of many colours” (138); in the Old Testament parable, the coat of many colors is a symbol of Joseph’s special status but nearly costs him his life.
Romance as the source of both life and death is also symbolized through references to the crucifixion, such as when the narrator suggests that the narrator risks receiving a stigmata from touching Louise’s shoulder blades or requests that Louise “nail me to you” (131). Although the narrator believes that their romance will lead to Louise’s early death, the narrator sees her as the only hope for healing.
By Jeanette Winterson