"The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock" is, number one, not a love story. Number two, it is not heart-warming. His language and diction may be eloquent, his imagery may be beautiful, but if this poem doesn't leave you in a jumble of nasty, afflicted emotions after an intense close reading, then get out of my face (not really...just read it again, please). Is it ironic that all these depressing truths about the meaning of true love and how impossible it is to attain is learned in senior year, almost as an intro-to-real-life class? I'm not sure...that might just be me being pessimistic. Unless it's actually true, then hooray, I guess?
But that's the thing with this poem, and even with Winesburg, Ohio, that always bugs me: all this guessing, the lack of concrete feelings, the unsureness, the "I guess"-ness of it all. No one really knows what they're really talking about; all you can get out of these two pieces of work is its emotional baggage that the characters perpetually carry, and this emotional baggage is what ties Winesburg, Ohio with "The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock" so well. Whoever it is that's speaking in both works talks about an inevitable loneliness and lack of communication that is tied into love. As we age, love seems to dissipate into nothingness and we have no one left except, well, us. Love looks like an impossible ideal that no one can reach because of our human incapability to describe our feelings and communicate this in a way that the other party, be it a loved one or a stranger, can understand. Is this all due to fear? Maybe...but fear of what? A misunderstanding, of exposure, of dependence to this other person who may know all your secrets and desires if you over-communicate? Who knows? (I sure don't.)
Take the first stanza of Eliot's poem, for example. He is describing a journey that "you and I" are about to partake (with "you" referring to whoever you want it to be--a lover, a friend, maybe even you, the reader). In a type of dream-like state, the speaker describes these uncomfortable places that we can go: "half-deserted streets" (Eliot, line 4), "one-night cheap hotels" (Eliot, line 6), "sawdust restaurants" (Eliot, line 7). I don't know about you, but this sounds like a foolproof plan to ruin date-night. But the real connection here is in its last three lines, where the speaker states "Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"/ Let us go and make our visit" (Eliot, lines 11-12). Immediately, the image I see is this boy and girl staring down a long road, with the buildings stretched out to the point of the road far in the distance, on the horizon line. What blew me away was when we went to class the next day for the rotating poster activity, and at least 3 people drew the same picture. Why? Why do many of us imagine this same picture?
It's the uncertainty of life that pops up in many of our minds as we read this first stanza that is also evident in Winesburg, Ohio when George is trying to overcome childhood and graduate into the lovely new world of adulthood. This uncertain attitude could refer to relationships, love, the future...practically everything that you didn't have to worry about when you were still a child. Thus, the vision of the long road gives off that unpredictable, uncharted feeling. The ideal of perfect first dates, lovely strolls in the evening, is ruined by the reality of cheap restaurants and dingy hotels. The speaker of the poem mentions an "overwhelming question" that cannot be asked because no one knows the answer. George is a young boy in Winesburg, Ohio who wants to grow up and make something of himself, but doesn't seem to do so successfully because he doesn't know how. It's like the same story, the same problem, in two different formats--poetry and short stories.
Secondly, there's this problem with communication that I never seem to understand as a problem in our society (probably because I talk way too much, so I wouldn't be able to empathize with this point). Eliot's poem is peppered with unanswerable questions directed towards himself about this overwhelmingly large question: "Do I dare/ Disturb the universe?" (Eliot, lines 45-46); "And should I then presume?/ And how should I begin?" (Eliot, lines 68-69). All of this questioning yields no answers, sadly enough; all this questioning, only to realize that "It is impossible to say just what I mean!" (Eliot, line 104). Enoch Robinson immediately comes to mind when Prufrock laments about who-knows-what. Both of these characters want to be understood, but in such a specific way and form that they can't communicate it easily. All they're left with in the end is their own, unsolvable questions that never even leaves their lips. ""I'm alone, all alone here," said [Enoch]. "It was warm and friendly in my room but now I'm all alone"" (Anderson, 177). Neither character can take that first step in asking the right question, or saying the right thing, in a way that can be understood and empathized by the people they're surrounded with. They don't want to end up like Wing Biddlebaum, in other words--shunned from society because of his miscommunication with kids. And the fact that a majority of American kids sitting in an AP Lit class thinks he's gay. That's a heavy burden to carry!
In their fright of miscommunication, the people of Winesburg and the people in Prufrock's poem create their own loneliness. It's a vicious circle; there's no discernible endpoint because no one wants to take that first step, to be outspoken about their identity. We've seen the product of such people who try to communicate their ideas and feelings: Elizabeth Willard, Kate Swift, Wing Biddlebaum, to name a few. These characters' endings are not happy endings, I can tell you that much. In an effort to communicate their ideas and truths, they end up being labeled as loose women (sorry, Elizabeth), hard-headed and strict (yes Kate, you), or gay (it's not your fault, Wing). The complete opposite side of the spectrum is Prufrock, this man who stays silent for too long and ends up stagnating. In time, he grows old and realizes his silence contributed to his demise, but it's far too late to change, he's too old. Either action leads to loneliness, and it seems that we've only got two ways to go about this: die alone with a preconceived notion from society about who you are, or die alone with no one actually knowing who you are, or what impact you've made on life.
I can't decide yet. I'm way too young to make this type of decision; I'd rather believe that communication and understanding is possible in this world, not an impossible ideal to strive for. But doesn't that make me sound a lot like George in his naivety? Probably. 'Vicious circle', remember?
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