Week Seven: Existential Truth in Lispector’s “The Passion According to G.H.”

by samuel wallace

    Introspection, dread and existentialism: these were the primary themes which came to mind while reading Lispector’s “The Passion According to G.H.” The story itself is a strange piece of fiction. It reads more as a frenzied confession from a madwoman—or if not mad, recently informed of life’s secrets through some traumatic event and left unable to come to terms with its answers. Because of its odd content, it forgoes the traditional plot structure containing a beginning, middle and end. Instead, the story opts for a dizzying downward spiral into a questioning of religion, ethics and one’s place in the world. 

   The existentialist nature of the piece struck me as a natural progression from the surrealism of Louis Aragon’s “Paris Peasant.” While reading Aragon, I was left confused and with only a vague sense of plot to string me along through unlikely images and parallels: the tone at many times often took priority over any discernible message. Lispector, by contrast, almost makes this style of writing seem lucid. Questioning everything in the house, G.H. expands surrealism not only to shine the spotlight on the absurdity of the world, but inwards, into the soul itself. 

    In my view, this is the crucial differentiation between surrealism and existentialism. From my past readings of Camus and Sartre, I saw surrealism evolve from focusing on setting reflecting self into existentialism, wherein setting and self increasingly merges into one to encompass being. “Every moment of finding is the losing of oneself,” writes Lispector on this discovery (pg. 8). Introspection is not always a good thing, and often leads to dread. Sometimes knowledge–like forbidden fruit, to borrow the biblical imagery utilized in the text—only kills our primitive joy in the world. Conversely, perhaps it is better to know than to live in ignorance. “Truth doesn’t make sense, the hugeness of the world makes me shrink” (pg. 10). Are these the words of someone who has attained enlightenment and is sad to see their solitary form go, or is delighted in the fact they have entered an immaterial form and lives on, as is later said, among winds and rust? Both extremes, happiness and despair, are oscillated between in this philosophy. 

    Overall, I was struck by the continuity one can see from previously studied works in this class. Although dense and unrewarding at times, I did appreciate what the author set out to capture in trauma leading to revelation. Similarly intriguing were the allusions to biblical imagery, those which almost underscored the story as being a new kind of existentialist, godless scripture where the present and connection between all living things–-even humans and cockroaches—are prioritized for happiness. 

    One final question: Is introspection worth pursuing if dread is all that comes from it?