I liked the end of the book far more than the rest of it. This was a matter of enjoyment, not quality of writing. I never bought the tiger story, in that it always seemed contrived to make various points. That said the book is far better than most philosophy novels. What with the actual dedication to plot, characters, and writing quality instead of making those things slave to arguments.
I think if you buy the realistic story the island is a symbol for Pi as a whole. As for a deeply literal mapping of the events on the island and Pi’s realistic experience, well thinking about it is really gross.
This book had a very profound impact on my life, reading it as I did at a time when I was coming to grips with my own loss of faith (while attending seminary, no less.) Yan Martel layed out for me exactly why I had chosen to believe in God, and exactly why I no longer could. (Because the story isn’t true, and no matter how much I enjoyed the tiger story–and the God-story–I liked the “true” story as well, and a big part of me wished I’d been able to hear it. Even more, I wished that Pi had been able to tell it as lovingly and carefully as he told his fantasy, just as I wish to face the reality of the world without losing the beauty and meaning of religion.)
As to the current discussion re the island: I think it is a mistake to try to figure out how the island functions for Pi and the Japanese investigators; I don’t think the author had in mind a “real” story for which the island is an alegory. The question then is how the island functions for Yan Martel and the reader. In this respect, it plays at least two important roles in the book. Firstly, it establishes the fantasticism of the animal story. As Judith points out, it is at this point that the perfectly crafted realism of the story begins to disolve, setting the reader up for the eventual unveiling of the truth during the denouement, and establishing the truth undeniably when the reader at last recognizes the full weight of the island’s impossabilty. Secondly, it creates a more perfect model for religion in the animal story. Not everything in religion has an obvious naturalistic analog or meaning, and only a trite model of religion would depict it as such. Many things in religion make sense only (if at all) in the framework of the religious system itself, and have no clear meaning outside of it, just as the island episode appears to make sense in the context of Pi’s story (and forms a natural part of the narrative arc describing Pi’s relationship with Richard Parker and his own situation), but is quite incredible when looked at objectively. Religion describes many things which are not merely improbable, but incredible and downright impossible (i.e., miraculous), and demands that we accept them or overlook their incredibility because of their place in the narrative framework of the religion.
That’s an interesting insight, Alan Smithee. It was required reading in freshman year in high school. When the teacher began discussing it about 1/4 of the class was shocked the animal story wasn’t true. :wally
I didn’t think that the story Pi made up for the Japanese men was true either, I don’t think he would have just come out and told the full story in all truth.
As I read this thread, a new question occurs to me. Does Pi Patel exist or is he part of the story as well?
Slight tangent, but looks like M Night Shyamalan is going to do a film version (told to BBC Breakfast). He (Yann) said “if it’s a good movie I can say it’s based on my book. If it’s a bad movie I can say it wa sbecause of the director”.
That is VERY VERY interesting, and of course, its right up his alley.
I never made the connection, but that’s exactly what all his movies are like. Except they’re not so metaphorical. I really think that could be a good movie.
Right, finished it at the weekend, so I know what the hell you’re talking about now.
Just to clarify: after the first tale, he tells the one of 3 others in the boat - The French cook (hyena) - a Chinese sailor with a broken leg (zebra) - his mother (orangy tang). Their fates correlate to the first story, so it would make sense to equate Richard Parker to Pi’s dark side. I woud see it as he believes the first tale more to negate his guilt over killing the French Cook in revenge for his mothers death.
Still have no clue what the island represents though, if anything. It may well just add a maguffin to the book ie it has no significant meaning, other than to try and freak the reader out.
Yes, but I also think it was a part of the “bigger picture” – we all have base animal instincts that we keep oppressed in daily life but that we have to rely on, and tend to, when circumstances dictate. A little part of us that we don’t like to acknowledge.
It’s been a few months since I read this book, but my interpretation of the island was semi-literal, I suppose. I assumed that Pi did indeed land on an island, but the elements that made the island inhospitible to life were allegorical representations of the realization that Pi had that although the island may have seemed like his salvation, after spending some time there, he became aware of the fact that he couldn’t stay. To stay would be to resign himself to just another longer and different death. While he had all of the food and water that he needed to live in comfort, he was still lacking the society and love and friendship he needed to have a real life. Coming to realize that the island was poisonous was his motivation to get back in the raft and keep seeking his real salvation.
Oh, and Nick, to answer your question, I am almost entirely certain that the story about the author’s trip to India and his meetings with the “real” Pi Patel is completely fictional. It is a clever conceit, and it’s not entirely original. Philip Roth begins American Pastoral with a first person reminicence of a childhood aquaintance whom he (the narrator) recently encountered as an adult, which encounter he also describes. This encounter and the memories it prompts are presented as the inspiration for the story that follows and comprises the remainder of the novel, a fictional account of the life of the man the narrator knew as a boy. The narrator, however, is not Philp Roth, the actual author, but Nathan Zuckerman, a fictional character who appears in at least two other books written by Roth, neither of which, unfortunately, I have yet read, apparantly always as Roth’s alter ego. Zuckerman’s adult meeting with the main character are presumably fictional, but it is unclear how much (if any) of Zuckerman’s life story or “voice” are actually Roth’s.
