Fate, Fixed Points in Time, and Concurrent Lives

Do you believe in fate? No, seriously. That’s not a rhetorical question. Answer it in the comments below. Are our futures mapped out for us? Or, at least, are some events in our lives mapped out for us? The events in Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life suggest perhaps. As the Doctor would say, there are certain moments that are “fixed points in time.” (Editing to say: Move video to 1:20. I couldn't figure out how to do that automatically through Blogger and just now realized it).

For Ursula, the main character, there are very few moments in her life that are fixed. Really, there is just one. Her death. It is practically guaranteed that Ursula will not live to die of old age. It seems that the universe is hell bent on killing her off at every opportunity. And yet, it gives Ursula the option for a redo every time she dies. Clearly, Ursula is not accomplishing something she is meant to accomplish.  In fact, the end of the novel implies she never does because it ends at the beginning­–on the day of Ursula’s birth, a slightly different version than the previous versions we have read. Is Ursula in a constant cycle of being reborn into her same life, with it playing out differently every time? I had hoped that, with Ursula killing Hitler, or even with her committing suicide, that the cycle would be broken. But it doesn’t. This cycle makes Ursula’s life feel very insignificant. No matter what she does, she ends up dying and starting all over.  The events change, but the outcome stays the same. Ursula’s mother, Sylvie, notes, “’Well we all get on…one way or another. And in the end we all arrive at the same place. I hardly see that it matters how we get there.’

“It seemed to Ursula that how you got there was the whole point” (Atkinson 252).

To Ursula, the events that happen leading up to her eventual death are the important parts. These are the parts not controlled by fate (to an extent) and the parts that Ursula has control over, which I think is part of the reason why how she gets to the end is so important to her. These are the moments she can change her own future as well as the futures of everyone around her.

            Ursula lives constantly on “a fine line between living and dying,” as her mother says one day (Atkinson 18). There are moments in her life that she teeters on the edge of death, and often teeters off both ways. We witness her deaths and her merely close encounters with death.  We as the readers are the only ones truly aware of all the different scenarios being played out in Ursula’s life. Either fortunately or unfortunately for Ursula, she too is able to catch glimpses of these different lives, often feeling déjà vu or dread when she stumbles upon one of these teetering moments. Early on in the novel, we relive the same scene over and over again. Bridget gets sick and spreads her deathly sickness to Ursula who dies as a result. After a few times of these same deaths, Ursula wakes up, “listening to the dark, a wave of something horrible washed over her, a great dread, as if something truly treacherous were about to happen…Pamela mustn’t wake up. They mustn’t go downstairs. They mustn’t see Bridget. Ursula didn’t know why this was so, where this awful sense of dread came from” (Atkinson 91). Ursula at this point does not suspect she has lived multiple lives, but something in her stirs and warns her of impending doom. This feeling persists throughout her next several deaths until Ursula succeeds in changing the outcome of this situation and manages to keep everyone but Clarence alive.

            Slowly but surely, Ursula begins to grow more aware of her multiple pasts and futures. On her sixteenth birthday, her father says, “‘Happy birthday, little bear. Your future’s all ahead of you.’ Ursula still harbored the feeling that some of her future was also behind her but she had learned not to voice such things” (Atkinson 175). The reader, of course, knows that in one of Ursula’s pasts, she manages to make it to 37 years old, only to be killed by leaking gas. Ursula’s many different lives intertwine and tangle with each other, leaving Ursula confused about what is real and what isn’t. The only things Ursula can sense are things that the reader has been exposed to chronologically. The book’s version of reincarnation, reincarnating into the same life instead of new ones, begs the question of whether or not these are actually past lives. Are the concurrent? These lives don’t technically exist anymore. Perhaps they are only arranged in this way in the book for the benefit of the readers, rather than for any sort of chronological purpose. How could these lives be in any chronological order, anyway? They are happening at the exact same time. Ursula is able to access concurrent memories from her other (not previous) lives and is able to use this knowledge to her advantage.

           

            Or perhaps not always to her advantage, but to the advantage of others. There are times, like to save herself or prevent herself from being raped, that Ursula manages to change, but many of the differences in her lives revolve around the differences for other people. Sometimes she saves Nancy. Sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes she is present at the apartment when the bomb explodes (which interestingly enough seems to be another fixed point in time) and she and others dies. Sometimes her presence changes things enough to save the lives of others (though not usually Fred Smith). Even Ursula’s affairs affect the lives of different people: Crighton, Ralph, Fred, and others. She has different friendships, sometimes due to slight changes in her hobbies as a child. Ursula seems to be the enactor and changer of others’ fates, even if she is only able to postpone her own fate for a while.

            That is, until the timeline where Ursula ends up with her child Frieda in Germany during the bombings. Ursula chooses something she never had in other lives. She makes the decision to kill herself and her child. Atkinson writes, “[Ursula] had never chosen death over life before and as she was leaving she knew something had cracked and broke and the order of things had changed” (379). By being the direct cause of her own death, something she kept redoing normally in order to prevent her own death, Ursula seems to cause a crack in time and space (oh hello again Doctor Who reference)

 and in doing so, changes details in her others lives more directly than before. Dr. Kellet, Ursula’s therapist, had had a son, Guy, who had been lost at Arras a long time ago, or so he had in most of Ursula’s lives. Chronologically for the reader, after Ursula’s decision, suddenly Ursula notices a discrepancy. She knows Dr. Kellet had a son. But not in this timeline. “It seemed even the instability of time was not to be relied upon,” Ursula muses (Atkinson 497). When Nancy is found dead in the woods for the second time (the reader’s second time), Ursula again worries, “Something was riven, broken, a lightning fork cutting open a swollen sky” (Atkinson 504). Ursula’s lives begin to merge and collide stronger than they ever had. She feels dizzy one day and runs into the Egerton Gardens and hears the voice of her once ex-husband, Derek Oliphant:

 She knew that voice. She didn’t know that voice. The past seemed to leak into the present, as if there were a fault somewhere. Or was it the future spilling into the past? Either way it was nightmarish, as if her inner dark landscape had become manifest. The inside become the outside. Time was out of joint, that was for certain. (505)

The cracks between Ursula’s lives are beginning to manifest in ways that jar Ursula out of living a single life. By taking the circumstances of her inevitable/fateful death into her own hands, Ursula upset the balance between her different lives.

The last thing I want to mention about how time works in this novel is about how Ursula does not seem to be the only one to sense the different possibilities and outcomes in these different lives. She is presented as the only one to re-experience and redo her life, but Atkinson hints that perhaps others are doing the same as well, if not all of the characters. The doctor getting there just in time with surgical scissors to cut the cord from around Ursula’s neck saves Ursula on the day of her birth. Sylvia remarks that they should get scissors to prepare in case this were to ever happen again. Of course, in that life, there is no way that will happen again. Yet  one of the the last “Snow” chapter we are left with, ends with Ursula being born the same way as usual, Bridget frantic, and Sylvia…”[holding] aloft her trophy–a pair of surgical scissors that gleamed in the lamplight. ‘One must be prepared,’ she muttered….

“Practice makes perfect” (Atkinson 520).

This moment seems to imply that there are others, including Sylvie, that can sense previous lives and be better prepared for it. Sylvie was able to unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly?) prepare for Ursula’s birth for an eventuality that she could not have foreseen without being subconsciously warned. Perhaps we are to be left with the idea that most people, if not everyone, are also trapped in these cyclical reincarnation loops, hoping to finally “get it right” without the satisfaction of knowing for sure if we ever will. Atkinson definitely implies in these last few chapters that Ursula’s experiences are not solitary and do extend further than explicitly described, turning it back to the reader, asking us if there are moments of déjà vu for us? Have we ever been able to sidestep experiences that could have been deadly?

Do you believe in fate?

The Struggles With Life After Life

When reading Kate Atkinson’s Life After Life, I found myself questioning whether or not the way the narrative reads works well for a reader. The aspect that she plays with, in a sense reincarnation, is a fascinating form to take on in a narrative. However, when reading the novel, several questions left me wondering how well this form of reincarnation worked and whether or not it is suited better for a different mode to be played out in. For example, when reading this novel, I was instantly reminded of an episode from the show Community entitled Remedial Chaos Theory. Within the episode, the character of Abed rolls a dice to decide who would answer the door and get the pizza. The episode then repeats itself around the dice roll, playing different scenarios of what would have happened if a different character was selected to go and get the pizza. This novel reminded exactly of that episode. In addition, the novel also reminded me of the pick your own storyline books that were popular. Within these books, the reader would get an interactive choice where they could follow specific storylines with a character to help choose their fate. Although Atkinson did not allow for the reader to do this in her novel, it felt close to the same kind of set up. Whenever Ursula would die, a new storyline would unfold for the reader to read and enjoy.

One of the problems I discovered myself having as a reader, at both the start of the novel and then throughout, was trying to push aside the notion of knowing the main character would inevitably die at some point. On more than one occasion I found myself flipping a few pages ahead to see if one the chapter titles were going to show up soon. At first I was really interested in the ways the author would have Ursula die. Would it be in a fire? Childbirth again? Something to do with the war? All these questions floated around in my head and it did lead to some suspenseful moments for myself. The problem I found, however, was I was still expecting death whenever a chapter would eventually come to an end. Due to this, as a reader, it was often challenging to try and focus more on what was happening in the story instead of letting the mind wander to what the next reason may be for Ursula’s untimely demise.

Another issue I was forced to wrap my head around was the idea of reincarnation within the book. The novel itself hints at reincarnation as the reason Ursula was continuously dying and then being reborn with hidden knowledge of the future that she didn’t understand. The problem that I was faced with was more the fact that this didn’t line up with the Buddhist tradition of reincarnation. Within the context of the religion, reincarnation doesn’t focus on a sole person being reborn over and over again within the same life. When a person passes away, they reincarnate into a different being based on the life that they lived before. Atkinson does a good job of laying out the foundation of reincarnation through her character of Dr. Kellett, who explains this belief to Ursula. The thought that then comes to mind is whether or not this is the belief that Atkinson has about reincarnation. It would make sense since she does reference several religions throughout the novel (Catholicism, Anglican, Buddhist, Judaism) and it feels as though her own struggles with beliefs, whether or not she had them, could have leaked into this novel as well.

Within the construct of the play on time that she does in the novel, a final issue that was taken was the simple question: why should I care? By the end of the novel, I was more interested in the play on time throughout the book than I was with the main character herself. It felt as though no matter what Ursula did or fixed, in the end it didn’t matter. Even when she finally lived to an old age and passed away, she was reborn, and everything in that story no longer mattered. Granted, it did make sense to tell the story, or how else would Ursula know the things that she did, but it still left me with the feeling that overall the story told was diminished. Even with her knowledge of Hitler, she was unable to kill him. She was able to avoid being raped, going through a horrible abortion, and eventually being killed by an abusive husband, but did it matter? The second she died in that timeline, the new one would start and she could avoid the dangers that would come her way.

This novel felt like it was trying to convey a single message. The first idea comes from Stephen King’s novel 11/22/63 with the idea that the past does not want to be changed. Despite Ursula’s knowledge of World War II and her different attempts to change the outcome for herself and the world, she is unable to do so. Ursula seemed destined to be a lonely character, with death being her only love. Towards the end of the novel she even says that going into the darkness must be what true love feels like. No matter which live she lives in any story she never properly falls in love with a man. In one occasion she does get married, but to an abusive husband. In another, she marries a german man and gets stuck in Germany. She is even relieved when her husband dies and does the best she can to try and save her daughter. In the end, it felt as though Atkinson wanted the reader to understand that even with an insight to the future, the past does not want to be changed.

Overall, despite the grievances filed above, the book was an enjoyable read. The focus on the constant changing story of Ursula made me continue to read the novel all the way through. The content, based around an English family during World War I and World War II was an interesting area to focus a novel around and one that I had yet to see before. As stated though, it was difficult to read and not think about when/how Ursula would die again. The reminders of reincarnation left me wondering whether or not Atkinson wanted me to believe the story was based around the very idea. Finally, despite the area in which the plot takes place, the question still remained on whether or not any reader should care what happens to Ursula in the present if the story will change as soon as she dies.

Perpetuum Mobile

            The anthologized version of Julia Garcia’s “Daughter of Invention” is written in first person from Yolanda’s point of view, rather than the third person in the novel, and has a different introduction. In that introduction, Yolanda describes Mami as “living proof of the perpetuum mobile machine so many inventors sought over the ages” (88). And although the footnote defines perpetuum mobile as “perpetual motion (operating continuously without a sustained input of energy” (88), perpetuum mobile also has musical definition (listen to a perpetuum mobile by Johann Straus), according to the World Heritage Encyclopedia: “a composition where (a large part of) the piece is intended to be repeated an (often not specified) number of times, without the ‘motion’ of the melody being halted when a repeat begins,” which seems to be an apt description of Kate Atkinson’s Life after Life.

            Ursula Todd is born, repeatedly; she appears to be the melody that is always in motion beginning with “Snow” on February 11, 1910. Smothered by the cat as a newborn; reborn. Drowned as a four-year old; reborn. Killed attempting to assassinate Hitler; reborn. Beaten to death by an abusive, insecure husband; reborn. Killed during the Blitz on London; reborn. Killed during the bombing of Berlin; reborn. Died from a migraine/aneurysm in London during the Six-Day War in Israel and Palestine; reborn. And although the synopsis on Kate Atkinson’s website states, “What if you had the chance to live your life again and again, until you finally got it right?” it doesn’t appear that Ursula has the luxury to get “it right” and then live a perfect life to its natural conclusion. In the final Ursula chapter “The Broad Sunlight Uplands” May 1945, Ursula has survived World War II in London, Nancy has survived the serial killer, Teddy has survived his bomber being shot down and prisoner of war camp, and Ursula may have a new love interest in Teddy’s friend Vic. No darkness falls. But the novel does not end; a final “Snow” chapter is included describing Mrs. Haddock having a third “glass of hot rum” (529), which implies another reborn episode.

            Ursula becomes increasingly aware of the perpetuum mobile of her life. In “The End of the Beginning” section (479-509), Ursula tries to right all the bad endings, but the narrator notes that “[s]ometimes it was harder to change the past than it was the future” (495). In her first appointment with Dr. Kellet in this episode, Ursula draws an ouroboros, “a snake with its tail in its mouth” that Dr. Kellet describes to Sylvie as “a symbol representing the circularity of the universe. Time is a construct, in reality everything flows, no past or present, only the now” (496). But Ursula’s increasing awareness of all possibilities overwhelms her with a sense of dread and a resulting mental breakdown. In her final meeting with the now retired Dr. Kellet, Ursula changes her shape of time from the ouroboros to the palimpsest to explain how or why evidence of the past, or her past lives, remain in her memory or present. To regain her sanity, Ursula commits suicide to deliberately repeat her life; she has come to terms with being “a witness” and recognizes that “the practice of it makes it perfect” (509).

            And what if (pardon the use) Ursula’s melody is not the only one being repeated? What if she is simply the only one overwhelmed or sensitive to the déjà vu, the ouroboros, the palimpsest? In the last “Snow” episode to describe Ursula’s birth, Sylvie “rummaged furiously through [the] contents” of her bedside table looking for scissors to cut cord strangling Ursula. Sylvie orders the young maid Bridget to “[h]old the baby close to the lamp so I can see”; Sylvie then snips the cord and the narrator states, “Practice makes perfect” (520). So Sylvie has not only experience Ursula’s birth and death numerous times, she has learned from those experiences whether or not she is conscious of that repetition. Also in “The End of the Beginning” section, Hugh makes a different choice in regards to Izzie’s baby; unlike every other repetition, he ignores Sylvie’s telegram, “DO NOT BRING HER TO MY HOUSE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES STOP” (483-484) and allows Izzie to stay with the family until she gives birth, at which time Sylvie and Hugh adopt the infant (484). And although we have already read that Sylvie did not leave the estate to eldest child and first-born son Maurice, her decision in this same section is caused by Ursula reporting that “Maurice shot the fox” and Sylvie replying, “I shall disinherit him one day” (501). Finally, in what could be the happily ever after ending of “The Broad Sunlit Uplands,” everyone seems to have survived through May 1945 and in the reuniting of Nancy and Teddy, Ursula believes Teddy has shouted, “Thank you,” to her across the pub (525). It could be thanks for bringing Nancy to the pub, but it could also be thanks for changing the past to keep Nancy alive, since Nancy is killed a few previous times by the serial killer.

            In the 1967 conversation with a nephew, Ursula states, “I heard someone say once that hindsight was a wonderful thing, that without it there would be no history” (474). It seems that Ursula is speaking for Atkinson. The only purpose that history serves is to learn from it; if we don’t use our hindsight to review the causes and effects, to compare and contrast the present with the past, or to analyzes the processes, then history is useless. There is no reason to examine where we came from if we don’t choose to utilize it to inform us. In her notes about the novel on her website, Atkinson states, “People move on, history remains” (2). While we do not live a life of perpetuum mobile, we would be remiss in not reflecting on the past, on the personal or societal history, to inform our decisions for the future. We do not have to repeat the past through perpetuum mobile or fractals (the term used by Atkinson to describe the structure of the novel); unlike Ursula and the Todd family, we can break the repetition.

            As an example, World War I was deemed the Great War because people assumed it would never been repeated. Unfortunately, within twenty years historians had to name it World War I because World War II had begun. But writer and analyst John Aziz believes that World War III, the concept of world war as perpetuum mobile, is not possible. In a column for The Week magazine, Aziz outlines a number of hindsights that would make a third world war unlikely: “mutually assured destruction,” “a huge rise in the volume of global trade,” democratic countries do not tend to go to war with each other,” “[p]ublic shock and disgust at the brutal reality of war broadcast over” social media, and “the world as a whole is getting richer.” Since the “incentives for world war are far lower than they were in previous decades, and the disincentives are growing,” we can reduce our fears of world war in repeating, unlike Ursula who relives World War II multiple times but from various points of views so that readers understand war from multiple perspectives. All of which add to our hindsight that world war should not be repeated.

Atkinson, Kate. Life after Life. New York: Back Bay Books, 2014. Print.