"Like Lesser Gods" -an Explication

I didn't really enjoy this book, but I am somewhat proud of this essay.

Kightlinger
HUI333


Like Lesser Gods Explication Essay

In Mari Tomasi’s Like Lesser Gods, the character of Maria Dalli is shown quite clearly as a strong and central force. Throughout the entire first half of the novel (indeed, from the very beginning, and the first time Mr. Tiff enters the Dalli household), Tomasi presents the reader with example after example of Maria’s continual unease about Pietro’s job. Though Maria struggles to perform her duties as prescribed by “L’ordine della famiglia”, she makes numerous futile attempts to change his mind about his job, and becomes continually haunted by her fears. As the novel progresses, Maria’s role as helpless onlooker begins to get the better of her, and her methods become darker and more desperate.

At the end of Book 1, in a desperate (and ultimately fruitless) attempt to “drive Pietro from the sheds and induce him to other work”(Tomasi 141), Maria goes to the quarries, enters Pietro’s workshed, and mutilates his granite masterpiece. We as readers are fortunate in that Tomasi allows us to access her actions objectively, and have the advantage over the other characters of being able to see this entire vignette through Maria’s eyes; we are able to witness, and consequently analyze, her expedition objectively. By calling attention to word choice, diction, setting, placement and imagery, we can attempt to explore this passage and determine why it is significant to the novel as a whole.

Maria’s trip to the quarries begins the “first night of fall grappa making” (141), after she overhears Pietro’s proud recognition of his “best job” (142) — a granite cross. The setting of this vignette originates in the safe, warm, welcoming atmosphere of grappa-making night; the Dallis have company over and the evening is a seemingly happy one. Tomasi’s placement of the incident immediately afterward is almost in defiance of the pleasantness of the evening. The fact that there is grappa-making going on is an interesting point in terms of setting, because it suggests that the whole incident takes place in a surreal, almost dreamlike state. This is in sharp contrast to the ever-practical Maria (144), who usually restricts the practice of dreaming safely within the confines of sleep (145) but is ultimately compelled to defile what she feels is a sacred place.

Pastinetti Place is across the river from Shed Row, and in crossing it she has effectively crossed a metaphorical river Styx. The Styx analogy is particularly glaring, especially in light of a previous scene in this vignette, in which we are shown Maria’s staunch belief in the power of the coin (139-40). As we will see, the symbolic Hades of Shed Row provides comprehensive imagery of Death in quite a few instances. From the beginning, Maria’s trip is set in the spookiness of nighttime — the sanatorium site is described as a “grotesquerie of exhumed maple roots, standing watch over their open graves” (143). The death imagery and comparisons here surround her: “gaunt specters”, “whiting bones”, “overturned tombstones” all starkly and blatantly foreshadow the unpleasant events to come. Upon breaking into Gerbatti’s shed, she enters the wet room, which has an “earthly chill of some subterranean cave” (144), very like a crypt or tomb.

Tomasi wants the reader to retain an understanding of Maria as a brave, willful soul, whose determination will not be weakened (144). In terms of sheer determination and spirit, Maria is unmatched (especially among other female characters). However, once Maria has crossed the river to Shed Row, there is no turning back. In committing this crime, she takes heart in God’s presence and the belief that she is in the right. This gives her the courage and strength to carry out her actions. But strength is “heir, too, to its own brand of pain” (148).
Consequently, once she has begun to damage Pietro’s cross and her sin has been committed, the mood of the scene changes. The imagery and word choice swiftly change. The sound created by her first blow to the cross is described as “sepulchral”, taking place in a “lofty” room (145) — both are words that clearly evoke a church-like atmosphere. The stone markers of Alma, George, and Alice become witnesses of a sort, emphasized by the fact that they are given names, and are thus personified (while Pietro’s cross is not). Suddenly her destruction of the monument becomes tangible, realized as very like the desecration of a grave. Here we see Maria uncharacteristically panic: suddenly she is breathless, the magnitude of her deed temporarily appalling her (145). Where she was so recently determined and somewhat oblivious, she is now conscious of her surroundings, becoming fearful, wary, and definitely more than a little apologetic. Maria’s cry of “half prayer, half scorn” is like an admission of guilt which catches her by surprise; she “frantically” (145) escapes, not wanting to acknowledge to herself, or even to God, the magnitude of her act.

She tries to leave the mental and emotional evidence of her having committed this sin behind, as she races back to the supposed safe haven of Pastinetti Place. However, the scrap of cloth she leaves behind serves as physical evidence of her crime. The ever-practical Maria, who may be able to justify her actions in theory, cannot continue to ignore them or pretend they did not happen once she is presented with physical evidence of her crimes. Because the entire adventure is so surreal, she might be capable of convincing herself that she would never be caught. After all, she escaped the nighttime adventure into day and then escaped back across the river, (without getting caught). However, once she is confronted with the cloth, which proves the reality of her deed, she realizes she cannot escape. It is actually almost as if she were being watched all along, and no matter what, the gravity of her deeds would ultimately pull its weight, and the truth inevitably come to light.

The discovery of the physical evidence of Maria’s deed is the culmination of a breaking point in Maria’s character. In anticipation of Pietro’s return and consequent announcement that he is leaving the sheds, the reader gets a glimpse of Maria’s dreamlike stream of consciousness as she imagines the day’s outcome. In keeping with “L’ordine della famiglia”, she convinces herself that a “good dinner” (141) will be enough to console Pietro. Though she hears nothing from Pietro nor anyone else about the destruction of the monument, she spends the day conjuring internal reasons for this. Instead of accepting the fact that Pietro, no matter what she does, will never leave the sheds, she is convinced that she has done the right thing. Maria talks herself into believing that her scheme will work out as planned — Pietro’s staying on as a stonecutter (in spite of the evilness of her actions and the subconscious guilt they have created) is an impossibility she has pushed far to the back of her mind. It is not a stretch to liken this entire vignette to that of Eve committing the Original Sin—after having done so, returning to paradise, as it were. After Mr. Tiff (the God/conscience figure here) confronts her with the weight of her actions, she, in a “stony mood of defeat” (149), decides to maintain this temporary lie. She, like Eve after her sin is committed, returns to paradise in the hope that if she keeps her mouth shut, everything will remain as it was before the fall. Maria prays to God that she will not be punished, that her actions will not have caused her to lose “all that is beautiful and honest” (150) between her husband and herself. In the second book her concern for Pietro’s health is put on the back burner.

It is not a coincidence that the vignette of “Maria’s trip to the quarries” takes place at the very end of the first book. The final scene of a pleading, penitent Maria conjures a vivid mental image for the reader; this is quickly put out of sight in Book 2, fading into insignificance (for everyone but Maria) after years of resigned pretense of innocence. Maria, in committing her own personal mission of death, has journeyed to the land of the dead and back again. No one can take a journey to hell and back without being profoundly changed. One might make a conjecture that her closing plea that God “not let Pietro find out” (150) is both a confession and a resignation—she must now acknowledge Pietro’s sacrificing himself for his “ridiculous passion for stone” (142), and she must reluctantly swallow her desire to change him.

The imagery of the cross is unmistakable: Pietro’s pours his soul into this granite cross in a devotion that mimics religious devotion to Christ. The destruction of this cross is symbolic of Maria’s loss of faith, and not Pietro’s. Although he is crushed by the destruction of his masterpiece, he can start again, and rebuild with a clean soul, whereas Maria is now tarnished and poisoned from being tempted by the easy way out.

In the next book, which takes place many years later, the reader becomes conscious of the change that has been effected in terms of the Dallis’ relationship and Maria’s not interfering with Pietro’s decision to work the stone. We now see that his happiness is the more important issue and Maria will sacrifice her own concerns to preserve this happiness. She realizes that the greatest sacrifice she can make is allowing Pietro to continue the work he loves without her interference, no matter how much it may hurt her. This is significant because it underscores the price that Maria is willing to pay in order to keep her husband and preserve the happiness that her family has found. At the end of book one, Maria understands that although she has fallen, and can never truly return to grace, she can make her own sacrifice in order to further the greater good and happiness of their family.