The Floating Opera

“To carry the ‘meandering stream’ conceit a bit further, if I may: it has always seemed to me, in the novels that I’ve read now and then, that those authors are asking a great deal of their readers who start their stories furiously, in the middle of things, rather than backing or sliding slowly into them.”

Early on, Barth demonstrates how Todd will reference his own story, as well as question the conventions of the novel as a storytelling medium. Todd adopts a conversational tone with the reader, making his choices to depart from traditional narrative structures feel less intimidating or unwarranted. The same way Todd questions those around him, he questions the novel as a storytelling device, suiting his character while also making the novel more experimental in structure.

“So. Todd Andrews is my name. You can spell it with one or two d’s; I get letters addressed either way. I almost warned you against the single-d, for fear you’d say, ‘Tod is German for death: perhaps the name is symbolic.’ I myself use two d’s, partly in order to avoid that symbolism. But you see, I ended by not warning you at all, and that’s because it just occurred to me that the double-d Todd is symbolic, too, and accurately so. Tod is death, and this book hasn’t much to do with death; Todd is almost Tod—that is, almost death—and this book, if it gets written, has very much to do with almost-death.”

Todd creates skepticism around his character even as he introduces himself to the reader. His indecision on how to spell his own name raises the question if that his name at all, making him an unreliable narrator. Todd’s comment about the German word for death being Tod also foreshadows the incident in the Argonne Forest in Chapter 7, in which he kills a German soldier. His claim that his name spelt with two ds means almost-death further foreshadows his own struggles with his mortality, chronic illness, suicidal thoughts, and survival.

“I needn’t explain that that’s how much of life works: our friends float past; we become involved with them; they float on, and we must rely on hearsay or lose track of them completely; they float back again, and we either renew our friendship—catch up to date—or find that they and we don’t comprehend each other anymore. And that’s how this book will work, I’m sure. It’s a floating opera, friend, fraught with curiosities, melodrama, spectacle, instruction, and entertainment, but it floats willy-nilly on the tide of my vagrant prose: you’ll catch sight of it, lose it, spy it again, and it may require the best efforts of your attention and imagination—together with some patience, if you’re an average fellow—to keep track of the plot as it sails in and out of view.”

By choosing to have Todd address the reader directly, and acknowledge that he’s writing a book, Barth allows the character to explain the creative decisions behind his own narrative. Todd, therefore, can explain the significance of the novel’s title without leaving any ambiguity for the reader. At the same time, he forewarns the reader that the novel will ebb and flow, departing from the main plot to meander with other characters and stories. Here, Todd, and Barth, can explain elements of the novel directly and acclimate the reader to its structure early on.

“It was the ‘inner harmony’ of the ‘whole man,’ he told me, that mattered. The real revolution must be in the soul and spirit of the individual, and collective materialistic enthusiasm only distracted one from the disorder of his own soul.”

When Todd first meets Harrison, he is an impassioned communist. Initially, Harrison seeks liberation for the worker, to free their spirits from exploitation. Later, Harrison becomes more like his father, materialistic, and indifferent to the suffering of others. His change of heart makes Harrison more complex and flawed. His words, while referring to the working class, also apply to Todd’s spiritual journey throughout the novel.

“The truth is that while I knew very well what copulation is and feels like, I’d never understood personally what love is and feels like. Are the differences between, say, one’s love for his wife, his mistress, his parents, his cats, his nation, his hobby, his species, his books, and his natural environment differences in kind, or merely in degree? If in kind, are the kinds definable to the point of intelligibility? If in degree, is the necessarily general definition which can cover them all so general as to be meaningless? Is this thing a fact or nature, like thirst, or purely a human and civilized invention?”

Throughout the novel, Todd contemplates life and whether anything humans do carries intrinsic value. His relationship with Jane and Harrison inspires more thoughts on love. Do we love differently depending on the situation, and, if so, does that make love fleeting and less meaningful? By proposing questions, rather than give answers, Todd shows he’s unsure about the meaning of life and gives that doubt to the reader.

“‘And I can tell you today it’s an awful thing to think about, this dyin’, and I would rather be chokin’ from the sinus, and not fit to git out o’ bed no more, and use a bedpan and eat dry toast, than to be dead, sir! Any man tells ye yer goin’ to git to like the idea jest ‘cause yer old, he’s lying’ to ye, and I want to tell ye right now, when the time comes I am going’ to cuss and holler.’”

Capt. Osborn’s rant is filled with slang and crudeness, making his character distinct from Todd and the other supporting characters. He’s opinionated, particularly about life and death. His commitment to face death with anger and spite makes him a stubborn and resilient character and provides a contrasting lifestyle to Todd, who faces death in a deliberate and calm fashion.

“It is one thing to agree intellectually to the proposition that man is a species of animal; quite another to realize, thoroughly and for good, your personal animality, to the extent that you are actually never able to oppose the terms man and animal, even in casual speech; never able to regard your fellow creatures except as more or less intelligent, more or less healthy, more or less dangerous, more or less adequate fauna; never able to regard their accomplishments except as the tricks of more or less well-trained beasts. In my case this has been true since that night, and no one—not my father, nor Jane, nor myself—have I been able even for a moment to regard differently.”

Todd is dismissive of the time he spent in the Army, but his experience in the Argonne forest changes his world view forever. Terrified, hiding, and sitting in his own feces, Todd feels his own animalistic qualities, unlike anything he’s experienced before. Todd’s time in battle helps explain his behavior toward others and develops his backstory, making him more complex. The dramatic tone of the battle contrasts with the sardonic tone used frequently in the novel, enhancing the horrors and long-term effects of experiencing war.

“What difference (I asked myself) did it make even if we were to meet each other again, face to face, in the numberless chances of war, and without a smile of recognition, go at each other with bayonets? For the space of some hours we had been one man, had understood each other beyond friendship, beyond love, as a wise man understands himself.”

Todd often goes through life detached, resistant to fully connect with anyone or anything. Only when he is thrown into a life-or-death situation does he truly connect with another person. They don’t speak the same language and are fighting on opposing sides, but when they recognize that neither one wants to die, they connect on a level beyond arbitrary human concepts like friendship and love. They become like a single person, united in an appreciation for being alive. Here, Barth shows that facing death can spark an appreciation for life unlike anything else.

“That’s my war story. I told it—apropos of what? Oh yes, it cured me. In fact, it cured me of several things. I seldom daydream any more, even for an instant. I never expect very much from myself or my fellow animals. I almost never characterize people in a word or phrase, and rarely pass judgment on them at all.”

Todd is matter of fact about how his time in battle affected him. After the Argonne Forest, he goes through life detached. He doesn’t mourn or celebrate this change in his interiority, instead stating it plainly for the reader. His decision to not expect anything from others explains his tendency to be cynical throughout the story, and his choice to reserve judgment complements his choice to become a lawyer.

“That will-o’-the-wisp, the law: where shall I begin to speak of it? Is the law the legal rules, or their interpretations by judges, or by juries? Is it the precedent or the present fact? The norm or the practice? I think I’m not interested in what the law is.”

Like love, Todd is skeptical of the law. Again, he proposes questions to the reader, not answers, creating a skeptical tone and contributing to the novel’s themes on the subjectivity of life and human constructs. Additionally, Todd actively chooses to not answer his own questions and is content to live life and see how the law plays out. His decision to avoid answering life’s big questions imbues the novel with doubt and skepticism—concepts popular in postmodern aesthetics.

“So, reader, should you ever find yourself writing about the world, take care not to nibble at the many tempting symbols she sets squarely in your path, or you’ll be baited into saying things you don’t really mean, and offending the people you want most to entertain. Develop, if you can, the technique of the pallbearers and myself: smile, to be sure—for fucking dogs are truly funny—but walk on and say nothing, as though you hadn’t noticed.”

Todd’s advice showcases his snark, wit, and unreliability. He rejects the clichés of other writers, refusing to assign significance to meaningless symbols, and encourages the reader to do the same. At the same time, he recognizes the symbols life presents us can be humorous and beneficial, like dogs fornicating near a funeral procession. By telling the reader about the dogs, he fails to heed his own advice, contributing to him being an unreliable narrator, as well as a contradictory, and complex, character.

“Think me heartless—I wish I were—but even as I write this now, thirty-seven years later, though my heart goes out to pitiful Betty, generous Betty, nevertheless I can’t expunge that mirror from my mind; I think of it and must smile. To see a pair of crabs, of dogs, of people—even lovely, graceful Jane—I can’t finish, reader, can’t hold my pen fast to the line: I am convulsed; I am weeping tears of laugher on the very page!”

Todd’s character continues to develop. He pities Betty, and feels bad about how he acted, but at the same time can’t deny how funny he finds sex to be. When he describes his tears hitting the page, he again reminds the reader he is writing the story they’re reading, reinforcing one of the central motifs of the novel. Here, Todd comes across as mean, but not heartless, while also utilizing the novel’s aesthetic choice to break the fourth wall.

“You have hundreds of habits: of dress, of manner, of speech, of eating, of thought, of aesthetic taste, of moral conduct. Break them now and then, deliberately, and institute new ones in their places for a while. It will slow you up sometimes, but you’ll tend to grow strong and feel free. To be sure, don’t break all your habits. Leave some untouched forever; otherwise you’ll be consistent.”

Todd calls into the question the very basic habits that make up our lives. By directly addressing the reader, his words of encouragement to break these habits become more visceral and engaging. His recommendation to not break every habit makes his words less outrageous, and his entire statement reinforces the story’s commentary on the arbitrary nature of societal conventions.

 “I might even say that if this were a rational universe and if I could be any person I chose, I should not choose to be Todd Andrews at all. I should choose to be very much like my friend Harrison Mack.”

Todd goes through life keeping everything and everyone at a distance, even his own character. He doesn’t actively try to behave and look more like Harrison but acknowledges he might choose Harrison’s characteristics over his own if given the choice. Todd confirms that he doesn’t think we live in a rational universe, further explaining his fickle behavior toward society.

“Are you so curious as to follow me down the hall to the men’s room? If you aren’t (I shall be only a minute), read while you wait the story of my resumption of the affair with Jane Mack. Look back into Chapter III, and you’ll find that near the end of it I reproduced an outline of the events that I imagined led up to my seduction by the Macks.”

Todd playfully suggests the reader can turn back to an early chapter and look at his observations about the Macks. Barth constantly reminds the reader that they’re reading a book, that Todd is aware he’s narrating a story for an audience. He uses this artistic decision in various ways: humor, analyses, and, in this case, to remind the reader about previous plot points. Referencing the narrative itself allows Barth (and Todd) to keep elements introduced early in the story from getting lost.

“’She’ll die in her sleep, I’ll bet. And Cap’n Osborn has known how he honestly feels about it too, for a long time, whenever he bothers to think about it, which is damned seldom. He’ll just put up a whale of a tussle when the time comes. But the trouble with you, sir, if I may say so, is that you’ve tried to pretend you’re enjoying yourself and looking forward to death as a grand finale, when actually you’re not.’”

Todd’s argumentative words with Mister Haecker upsets the elderly man, giving their dialogue tension and making the scene more dynamic. Todd’s statement also puts Haecker’s life philosophy to the test; he can remain steadfast in his beliefs or perish to Todd’s cynicism. Haecker’s dilemma develops Barth’s commentary on adopting various masks in life and contributes to the narrative’s focus on death and how we choose to live and die.

“All my life I’d been deciding that specific things had no intrinsic value—that things like money, honesty, strength, love, information, wisdom, even life, are not valuable in themselves, but only with reference to certain ends—and yet I’d never considered generalizing from those specific instances. But one instance was added to another, and another to that, and suddenly the total realization was effected—nothing is intrinsically valuable; the value of everything is attributed to it, assigned to it, from outside, by people.”

Todd’s realization about life, and its inherent lack of meaning, marks a major shift in his character and develops the novel’s themes. All of humanity’s practices and objects, in Todd’s view, only carry meaning because people give them meaning. This conclusion marks the end of years of thinking and contemplation, showing that Todd is thoughtful, critical, and progressively cynical about life.

“Don’t think I’m an indiscriminating promoter of suicides: I merely hold that those who would live reasonably should have reasons for remaining alive.”

Todd avoids being overly bleak with the reader. He believes ending his life is the right choice for him, not necessarily others. By elaborating on his opinion about suicide, Todd continues to grow in complexity, and his beliefs become more nuanced and interesting.

“I wondered with quite sharp interest what she intended to do about my note, now that I’d fulfilled the conditions of hers—and when it occurred to me that I’d not be alive to find out, I experienced a small sensation of regret; the only such sensation I felt that day.”

Throughout the story, Todd approaches the day of his suicide with comfort. He makes plans and feels satisfied each time he completes a task from his list. Jane, however, is out of Todd’s control, and she makes him uneasy as a result. Her character adds drama to the story by giving Todd something he’ll miss, creating more tension and showing Todd is invested in Jane and their relationship.

“What difference did it make to me how they interpreted my death? Nothing, absolutely, made any difference. And, sane again, I was able to see a nice attraction in the idea that, at least partly by my own choosing, that last act would be robbed of its significance, would be interpreted in every way but the way I intended. This fact once realized, it seemed likely to me that here was new significance, even more appropriate.”

The Macks almost ruin Todd’s plans to end his life. He doesn’t want them to think he killed himself because of them. This last moment of hesitation serves as another twist in the narrative and heightens the stakes of Todd’s ultimate decision. However, Todd rationalizes that it doesn’t matter what the Macks think and goes on to realize his death might be interpreted any number of ways. He deems this viewpoint as sane, demonstrating his devotion to his cynical personal beliefs. Each time a potential roadblock threatens to stop Todd from killing himself, he finds a way to rationalize why he should go through with his plan.

“My heart, reader! My heart! You must comprehend quickly, if you are to comprehend at all, that those masks were not assumed to hide my face, but to hide my heart from my mind, and my mind from my heart.”

Todd spends most of the narrative being a detached, level-headed narrator. He’s always in control, steering the ship of his narrative and commenting to the reader as he moves the story along. His final hours are at hand, and Todd’s coolness cracks. He criticizes himself and his various personas he’s adopted, realizing he was separating his emotions from his cognition. His outburst serves as a moment of weakness previously unseen and exemplifies the burden of adopting different masks in life.

“But now you must know my last secret. In my life I have experienced emotional intensely on only five occasions, each time a different emotion. With Betty June in my bedroom I learned mirth; with myself in the Argonne I learned fear; with my father in the basement of our house I learned frustration; with Jane Mack in her summer cottage I learned surprise; with my heart, in my hotel room on the night before this last day, I learned despair, utter despair, a despair beyond wailing.”

At the novel’s conclusion, Todd displays new levels of vulnerability and honesty with the reader. By recalling the few moments in his life where he felt intensely, he also summarizes major events in the story, providing a last-minute refresher of plot points and giving his impending death dramatic weight. An unreliable narrator, Todd’s words also confirm his feelings about moments in his life, which he chooses to be aloof about throughout the novel.

“Calmly I thought of Harrison and Jane: of perfect breasts and thighs scorched and charred; of certain soft, sun-smelling hair crisped to ash. Calmly too I heard somewhere the squeal of an overexcited child, too young to be up so late: not impossibly Jeannine. I considered a small body, formed perhaps from my own and flawless Jane’s, black, cracked, smoking. Col. Morton, Bill Butler, old Mr. and Mrs. Bishop—it made no difference, absolutely.”

Barth creates vivid contrasts between life and death. Perfect breasts and thighs are scorched, hair turned to ash. A child, potentially Todd’s own, is similarly charred. Barth then lists off other supporting characters aboard the showboat, reinforcing that Todd isn’t ending just his own life—he’s ending the lives of most of the characters the reader has met. Todd’s indifference represents the peak of his cynicism. He’s so committed to his belief that nothing has intrinsic value he’s willing to kill hundreds of others along with himself.