Moral Disorder Response - Katie Yook

Moral Disorder Response

Katie Yook

In Moral Disorders, Margaret Atwood gives us excerpts of a woman at different stages of her life.  However, each separate chapter feels like it is about a different woman.  By doing this, Atwood is demonstrating an individual’s ever-changing identity.  We are constantly changing—our habits, opinions, relationships, moods, circumstances.  Though we feel like we have such a strong sense of identity, we can actually change who we are at any time.  This emphasizes our agency to choose who we are.  The only thing that is unchanging and ingrained in us is our true nature.

The book opens with “Bad News.”  I see it as a story about daily routine and habits.  Connecting this to the idea that we are ever-changing, our morning routine and habits don’t make us who we are.  It is just a pattern of behavior that people find comfort and structure in.  The girl “needs” coffee in the morning, because she is a “coffee person,” but she really does not need it.  This story is also about bad news, as indicated by the title.  The girl has apocalyptic fears and a strong fear of distant disaster.  It is as if she is waiting for something bad to happen, not in her personal life, but in the world.  She also fears death and believes her and Gilbert are lucky because they are still alive.  Another one of her anxieties is the fear of growing old and losing her memory.  This points to the fragility of humans.  They can’t handle the bad news, which is streaming constantly, but the bad news is so distant in place that it doesn’t stick, and she stops caring after perhaps a week.

“Art of Cooking and Serving” gives attention to societal norms.  For example, the worry on the mothers’ friends faces reflect the friends’ judgment yet passivity in helping the mother out.  Also the narrator prefers to use the euphemism “expecting” instead of “pregnant” because it sounds better.  The narrator also learns to not stare at disabled children on the street, a norm she probably learned, but that isn’t beneficial.  The story juxtaposes of gender roles.  The brother would have helped the family by mowing the lawn but instead went to boys camp to chop wood.  While the brother is out learning to be a man, most of the responsibility is given to the girl.  The narrator says, “meanwhile my mother was being no use at all” because she wasn’t helping her knit.  Basically the mother is useless because she can’t assist in domestic work.  The mother is “slacking off” as if she was knitting in a factory and being a housewife is an occupation.

Throughout the book and especially in “Labrador Fiasco,” we see people getting older and losing energy.  There is strong distinction between how these people were versus how they are now and it’s really depressing.  In this story, the setting switches between an outdoor adventure and a household in which the father’s family is worrying about how old and inactive he has become.  The father “wants to go home” to the way things were, but the past can never be experienced again and time goes nowhere but forward.  The father is unhappy in his situation but things can’t change, and we sympathize with his helplessness.

As for the lack of finality in the book’s ending, I enjoyed it.  It causes the story to spill out into real life.  It makes the story so much realer to life.

Response 2/4

Jei Woo

In her collection of stories, Moral Disorder, author Margaret Atwood demonstrates her mastery of the crucial element of plot. Specifically, she has a very distinct way of developing her plot through time. Her stories all possess a certain progressive build-up of tension. Each story begins with hints of what the main conflict of the story might be. As the story moves on, Atwood layers her writing with loads of imagery and foreshadowing. The underlying conflict then bleeds through into the story gradually, and Atwood finally finishes off with the resolve when the forces in the story are ready to be reconciled. Two of her stories, “Moral Disorder” and “The Labrador Fiasco, exhibit this exact format of plot development.

In “Moral Disorder,” the protagonist Nell begins to start a new life with her lover Tig in a new town called Garrett. The conditions of Nell and Tig’s love affair are quite ambiguous; the reader discovers that Nell is not Tig’s legal spouse or the mother of his children. Though the story seems to begin on a happy note, the underlying problem is revealed even in the first few pages. “Nell didn’t say it wasn’t the windows, not the wallpaper. But paint would help” (117). Obviously, there’s a problem, and Atwood begins to hint at it more often as the story moves along. When Nell begins to work on her kitchen garden, she takes interest in sharp implements. Yet, she stays away from axes because “she didn’t think she could handle an axe” (120). There is some need for reconciliation with the axe symbolism, and Atwood doesn’t fail to do that at the end when Nell reveals her deep secret: she knows that Tig doesn’t want them to have babies.

Atwood demonstrates her skill in developing plot in her other short story, “Labrador Fiasco.” From the first page (which is only half an actual page), we learn that the narrator’s mother is reading to her father. They are both elderly people, and her father had suffered from a stroke six years ago. However, looking closely, the first passage introduces so much more. The first sentence is “It’s October, but which October?” which introduces the idea of perhaps Alzheimer’s or dementia. Throughout the story, as Atwood shines light on the father’s unfortunate situation, she uses phrases like “time passes” to again hint at how the family is being suffocated under the constraints of time and its effect on the human body. Like in “Moral Disorder,” Atwood ends the short story with the most powerful scene in the story, in which the narrator attempts to console her father who remains disabled and helpless from the aftermath of his stroke.

Atwood never fails once to show how gracefully and powerfully she can develop her story. However, I felt that a great portion of each story was mere detail: descriptions of Tig’s sons growing older, what Hubbard and Wallace are eating for supper, etc. I learned today in my Literary Interpretation class of one of T.S. Eliot’s quote, “Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.” While reading, I was anxiously waiting for Atwood to reveal the big outcome at the end. Though Atwood definitely has an extremely refined control over her plot, I was expecting short stories to be engaging and brilliant all the way through. Maybe that’s my own problem. 

The Power of Stories

     Margaret Atwood’s Moral Disorder and Other Stories departs from the traditional idea of a collection of short stories. It reads more like a novel—while the narrative skips ahead and traces back, selecting moments and sensations and ages—depicting one woman’s life and relationship to stories.

     Not all the stories are the narrator’s own—she tells some of her mother’s, her father’s, her sister’s—some are personal transpositions of stories which exist in their own right. One such story is “The Labrador Fiasco,” which occurs near the end of the book and communicates both the aging of the narrator’s father and the story of three men exploring the unchartered Labrador wild. She narrates them as a story within a story, for in the first her mother reads her father the second. The narrator’s father being a former explorer himself, he interacts with the second story—though from the sad comfort of the home he no longer leaves—pointing out the young men’s mistakes, providing an explorer’s insight. There is a tension, however, as we simultaneously pity the stroke-ridden father who won’t go out, and realize that perhaps the young explorers should have stayed home as they freeze and starve, lost in the wilderness. This narrative both serves as a contrast and as a depiction of age itself, when miles become days and years become decades. This latter sentiment is articulated in the following story, “The Boys at the Lab,” by the narrator’s mother, who, five years after the death of her husband, suffers similarly with the struggles of old age. 

     In “The Boys at the Lab,” the narrator implements another narrative tactic, this time telling stories through the photographs in her mother’s old albums. When it begins, it is nostalgic—the narrator learns these stories from her mother, recounts them, shares them with her. But has her mother loses her memory, her sight, her sense of smell and sound (she has one good ear left), the narrator is forced to recount her mother’s own stories back to her, some of which she remembers, some of which she does not. “The Boys at the Lab” takes a dark turn from the nostalgia as the reality of her mother’s age sets in. The narrator recalls her mother telling her the fate of Cam, one of “the boys at the lab”—the subject of one of her photos—that he died of “some condition.” She alludes that the other, Ray, suffered some alternative but ultimately similar fate, though she won’t reveal what. 

     Eventually, the narrator’s mother no longer remembers the boys at the lab, and the narrator must fill in the blanks of the stories herself. She takes images and creates her own narrative. As I read this story, I am overwhelmed with anxiety—as a reader I have invested in the narrator’s dependence on her mother’s narration. The photos were not of characters but of people, and as the narrator finishes these stories which her mother can no longer recall I am struck hard with the dismal circumstance that no witnesses have survived—I feel her slipping away. The narrator says, “I want them to have more of a story—more of a story than I know, and more than they probably had,” and while she takes shelter from the loose ends in the power of her own stories, I can’t help but want to know the truth. 

Amy's Response

Moral Disorder provides an interesting variation on a traditional novel. With each story (from the stories I have read) the reader learned details about one family and their interactions with each other as well as others. From a close reading of  “The Labrador Fiasco” It is clear that age and timespan plays an interesting roll in this short story. From “The Labrador Fiasco” we have Nell as the narrator, who has come to visit her aging parents.. The father figure stuck out to me in particular. This was a relatable character because of the prevalence of degenerative memory in older adults, weather it is from dementia of some kind having to do with health problems and aging. You can see how his roll has changed as his heath issues has turned him into an incredibly inactive man. This struck a chord and made me think about aging and independence, as independence seems to be a theme through some of the other stories.

 I particularly enjoyed the parallel between the story being told within the story and the declining state of Nell’s dad’s health. The two stories seem to twine together perfectly. With each of the stories pointing out aspects of the other one. A particularly interesting line to me was at the very beginning where Nell’s mother was reading to his father. “This pleases him: he himself would not have taken the wrong supplies. In fact he would never have gone on this ill-advised journey in the first place, or – although he was once more reckless, more impetuous, more sure of his ability to confront fate and transcend danger-. (pg. 190).  This is a man who has lost a majority of what was once his life, however he still finds joy in his own semblance of intelligence, even in the belief that he would make better decisions than the men in a story. This joy is almost sad, because as he can recognize he would have made a different decision, his years of adventure are over as it is clear that he is near death and getting weaker.

In relation to the other stories this story seems a little darker, the story points out the negative side of aging. Age plays a big roll in many of these stories however in this one the stark difference in attitude between the elderly parents and the person telling the story pointed out just how important age is in relation to happiness and general outlook. Later in the story the idea of “home is brought up, which seems fitting as the story is about a woman coming home to visit her parents in her childhood home This is a predicament I think particularly applied to college students as we have not yet completely made our own homes, and yet we often no longer live in our childhood homes. Creating a disconnect, and perhaps a mission to find a place that seems like home. This mission is one that many of the characters are attempting to complete. This collection of stories discusses many important details of family life and growing up, making it universally relatable in one-way or another. 

Nakita Mortimer's Response to "The Labrador Fiasco" by Margaret Atwood

Margaret Atwood develops plot in a rather unique way in her collection of short stories together titled Moral Disorder. The reader basically follows a main character, Nell, through various stages of her life, each stage portrayed as a short story. The focus here will be on the penultimate short, “The Labrador Fiasco.”

In “The Labrador Fiasco,” the tale of three explorers on a dangerous expedition is interwoven into the story of Nell’s father’s painful descent into oblivion. Handicapped at the beginning of the story by a stroke, and then again later on in the story by another, the main character’s father becomes a great source of worry for his family. Once a brave and lively explorer, this man is now diminished to a half-blind, forgetful wandering soul who seems to only be able to circle back to his favorite tale (that of the three explorers) in times of trouble. I find it interesting that Atwood chose to use two plots to tell one story, and I am puzzled by the choice of the inner plot. The tale of the three explorers is a rather gloomy one, starting with the hopeful beginning of a journey for two curious whites and their savant Native American guide, but ending with the death of both explorers and a hint at the survival of the guide. Meanwhile, the outer plot goes from a rather quaint portrayal of a somewhat normal Canadian family reading the aforementioned tale aloud for the umpteenth time, to the burdensome event of the father’s second stroke and his struggle to find himself thereafter.

The line in this short story that speaks to me most is the following: “Stories are no good, not even short ones, because by the time you get to the second page he's forgotten the beginning. Where are we without our plots?” (Atwood 228). The main character thinks this as she explains that her father has lost interest in many of his old hobbies after his second stroke, here specifically reading or being read short stories. This part strikes me because it seems to have more than one meaning. Literally, it seems to imply that without remembering events in a story, it is difficult if not impossible to make anything of said story. However, the use of the word ‘our’ in this sentence could instead imply that without the ‘plot’ of our lives, that is to say the events or memories that make up our experiences, we are lost, unable to move forward.

This short has made me realize the possibility of having more than one plot present in a story. I have been more used to the idea of the personal background of each character in a story, which can be seen as a ‘plot’ of each character’s lives, coming together to make one story overall. But using a story inside of a story is an intriguing way of passing on a message. The abrupt ending of “The Labrador Fiasco” makes me wary of having pinpointed the actual message of the short, but I do feel that with the implied survival of the Native American guide, Atwood wishes to impart a sense of hope to the reader. 

 

Labrador Fiasco and Plot

In reading the” Labrador Fiasco” from Margaret Atwood’s Moral Disorder, there was an endearing simplicity to the way she told the story. Nonetheless, it is clear that there is an interweaving and complex sense of development in the story, but somehow the reader is never allowed to acknowledged just how well developed the progression of events, external and inscribed into the story’s world, because it has a linearity and familiarity that would denote a sense of comfort. For instance, there is the story within the story, the bedtime story that is told of the adventurers to the father, which is completely linear. Two men decide to go on an adventure, they hire a guide, they ignore the consultation of the guide who has seemed to receive divine direction, they eventually fall prey to the hardships of nature’s cruel brutality, and everyone but the guide dies, albeit peacefully one could say. Then there is the real story presented, that of an old man desperately trying to make sense of the bitterness of old age and the closing chapters of his life, his own Labrador Fiasco, as Atwood reconnects small tidbits of the past into the character, a shell of a man, which is presented in the telling. And it is not merely through direct details that the audience is given an understanding of this man’s past life, but the backstory is read through just his interactions with the story being told, suggesting that either he knew people similar to these men or that quite possibly he was in a situation like those men. Then, of course, there are pieces of backstory told through observations concerning his seizure, the details given about his characteristics embodying a strong display of ‘show and not tell’.  It was incredibly halcyon at times given the gloomy nature of the story, the uncertain and hazy ending given that gives no appeasement to the audience as to what will occur to the father, but such a boon was given through the finer manipulations with the story’s development, interrupting the grim story of cocky young men with memories of the father when he was once so as well. These memories were given through a prop device, the same book they read these stories from also contained in the back pictures and notes from the father, again suggesting a personal connection to the three characters of the Labrador story.

               What I could perhaps gain to learn from this story is how to utilize details, small descriptions and subtle cues to suggest plot devices or backstories, to make seemingly innocent items weave intricate plotlines. There doesn’t necessarily have to be an outright inference to an event that has occurred or a verbal connection to an event, because just through the back and forth repartee of the father’s memories and the story being told, his interrupting comments and snide remarks, we have received a better understanding of not just his character but of his past as well. One that establishes the tone of the story very well, all without saying much and never giving itself as a heavy hand.

Moral Disorder Response

Jack Breene

Moral Disorder

            While reading a handful of the stories in Margaret Atwood’s collection, “Moral Disorder” an important theme that stands out is aging and how it effects us. Both the Labrador Diaster and The Boys at the Lab, feature a grownup child narrator with a parent who is becoming very old. For these parents, the father in Labrador and the mother in Boys, aging is a very unpleasant experience. In addition to being lonely, the mother is now a widow and most of her friends have died, both begin to struggle with their bodies in their old age. While the parents continue to lose more and more control of their lives as their physical and mental health deteriorates, the child in both cases gains a new sense of understanding that comes with growing up. For the narrator in both cases, this transformation is bittersweet. On the one hand, the parents treat them as adults, which every kid wants from their parents; but on the other, this new situational awareness allows them to see the true pain their parents are going through.

            A major difference in the Labrador Diaster and The Boys at the Lab, is how the elderly parents have found different ways of escaping the fact they are getting older. In The Boys at the Lab, one of the mother’s defining characteristics throughout the story is that she refused to hold on to the past. In her younger day she had diligently assembles photo albums but after a certain point she couldn’t bear it.  Instead, she preferred to live in the now. But as after she had lost her ability to walk, see, and hear in one ear, living in the now only serves to make her unhappy. While she was able to see, the photo album served as a way that she could escape from thinking about how weak she had become. Instead she could think about the summers by the lake during the war or about Ray and Cam, the two most memorable boys at the lake, or simply what she used to look like and how she used to smile. However, once she sight abandons her, the mother left with nothing but memories, which abandon her too eventually. While commendable, the mother’s confrontation with the truth leaves her feeling miserable during the last stage of her life.

            In the Labrador Diaster, the father, who is suffering from what appears to the be Alzheimer’s, escapes from the reality of his life in a much more complete way.  While the mother would transport herself back while looking at her photographs, the father loses himself when the mother reads him the story of the adventurers. The father pretends that he is in the story which he prefers to his actual life but eventually he is unable to distinguish between what’s real and what’s imaginary. While the process starts slowly, he makes a list of supplies every time he hears the story, at the end he is convinced that he is out there with Hubbard, Wallace and George. While he successful escapes from the misery of old age, he surrenders the ability to pull himself back into reality.  

    

Memento Mori

There is something to be said for the ability to create an engaging plot out of the unarguably mundane—for most, farm life seems the uncritical slice-of-life ideal, and the underlying themes of romance and the confusion thereof seem distinctly Lifetime television. Margaret Atwood, however, manages to prove that there is merit in the difficulties of the everyman.

Atwood manages to set up not only a storyline that endears us to the main character, but manages to set herself up as a talented weaver so, by the time we reach “The Labrador Fiasco,” the significance of this chapter is not lost to placement. Timing is just as an important part of plot and direction as the plot itself is, and I have to commend Atwood for understanding that.
 

On a purely textual level, “The Labrador Fiasco” is just as impressive: by invoking the “show within a show” trope—book within a book, as it were—the reader is immediately alerted to the metaphorical importance of the story. It wouldn’t be there in such detail if it didn’t have relevance and, as soon as enough of the story is revealed, so is the relevance. By crafting a fairly straightforward plot—adventurers in the wild, while interesting in its own right, is  not necessarily innovative nor subversive in its execution—as a second text to what is happening in the real world, Atwood gives each side of the storytelling coin a healthy dose of scope.
 

The father’s dilemma is allowed to become greater than itself through the relation to an adventure; by giving an irredeemably tragic tale (in either direction) this kind of overarching essentialism to themes of life and living, it loses some of its tragedy, and in execution, becomes an almost darkly hopeful story that reflects well the mood of the rest of the collection. There is a grounding in realism that, while somewhat bleak, also offers through the medium of being a short story that there are still other endings to be told.
 

On page 201, the narrator discusses her father’s feelings toward her and her involvement. She aged, essentially, so she failed. She failed him by progressing, which in and of itself is an interesting notion: had she miraculously stayed the same, things would have somehow been better for his mental space. As a people, we tend to look on forward movement as a positive thing, but in the case of the father, it was progress that ultimately seemed bad for him—ironic, when one considers his praise of George for going forward and leaving his companions behind.
 

Ultimately, “The Labrador Fiasco” is thematically and symbolically rich without being overbearing or heavy-handed in its presentation—a common flaw of stories trying to deal with the sadness of family troubles and death—and the use of two seemingly unrelated stories to tie together a universal concept was executed wonderfully subtly.